


Wildcats: Beginnings

by queenitsy



Series: Wildcats [1]
Category: High School Musical
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, HSM Big Bang, Minor Violence, Temporary Character Death, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension - Het, Unresolved Sexual Tension - Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenitsy/pseuds/queenitsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wildcats -- Captain Bolt, Strawberry Sugar, Frappe, Go, and +ayl0r -- will go down in history as one of the greatest superhero teams of all time. But how did these heroes get started, and how did they come together as a team? And what about Chiaro and Scuro, the twin super villains (or are they just misunderstood)? And why the heck does Captain Bolt turn orange in direct sunlight..?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain Bolt

Troy's truck was, to put it kindly, a clunker, but it ran. Usually. It wasn't much to look at, equal parts rust and flaking paint, and he knew for a fact that everything under the hood was a hodgepodge of cheap second- and third-hand parts, because he'd installed most of them himself. But it had been a free hand-me-down from his father, and it usually got him from point A to point B okay, so he kept it -- even though, given how much he spent on gas and upkeep, a bus pass might have been cheaper.

But he really was pretty fond of the darn thing, he thought, as he waited for the seemingly-bottomless gas tank to fill. He glanced uncomfortably up at the sky and wished the pump had some sort of overhang. Duke City was in the middle of a freaking _desert;_ what kind of place didn't try to create some shade? Troy's skin was uncomfortably tingly by the time the pump jarred his hand, signaling that the old clunker was finally full. Not a moment too soon -- he glanced at his hand as he cradled the pump, and saw an orange splotch.

Darn it all. Mowing the lawn for his mom that morning had taken longer than he'd planned, and now every minute counted, if he didn't want a repeat of the human carrot incident. He jogged into the station and let out a breath of relief. There was no A/C, just an old fan aimed squarely at the guy behind the counter, but at least he was out of the sun.

"Uh, pump two," he said.

"'Kay," the guy behind the counter said.

"Uh, and a newspaper." He grabbed one from the pile in front of the counter. "I like to stay informed."

"Whatever." The employee shifted to open the register, but froze suddenly. He pulled his hand back like it had been burned, and his eyes went wide, staring at something right behind Troy.

Troy turned slowly and saw a man halfway between him and the exit. He was wearing an EHU cap pulled low and shading his eyes, and he had a gun in his hand.

Whoa.

"Open the register," the man said.

"Um..." The employee reached forward again nervously.

"And keep your hands where I can see them. No alarm buttons, you got me?"

"Yeah." The employee's voice cracked and his hands shook as he rang up a non-transaction.

"You -- move it," the crook said to Troy. He gestured to the side with the gun. "Back off, I don't want any trouble. I just need the cash."

"Need it?" Troy said, frowning, even as he backed up a step. "Or just want it?"

"What's it to you, wise guy? I said _back up!_" He waved the gun again, and Troy backed up another few steps because the robber didn't look totally stable. He looked nervous, and Troy _really_ didn't want to spook him and get someone shot. The guy behind the counter didn't deserve that, and Troy... Well, he was already turning orange. He didn't need anyone to see just what a freak he actually was.

Yeah. Getting shot was a bad plan.

On the other hand, letting someone get away with robbing a poor, hapless gas station attendant? Sure, the counter guy was kind of surly, but he'd probably get fired or something. _That_ wasn't fair. Troy clenched and unclenched his fists nervously. He could totally stop the robbery. He could step right up, take a bullet to the chest, crush the gun with one hand, and hold the guy down until the cops arrived. But that led right back at the look-at-the-freak place.

He hesitated, watching as the cashier laid $20 bills on the counter. Okay, a frontal assault wouldn't work. He couldn't touch the guy. Not directly. But if he could throw something, or... or... Ah ha.

The newspapers were piled on top of an old cooler. Once upon a time, it had probably held ice cream; now it mostly held freezer-burned ice chunks. But the cooler looked pretty sturdy and hadn't moved an inch in decades, judging by the grime built up under it. It could work.

Troy faked a coughing fit, doubling over, and when he was sure the robber was facing towards him, not the guy at the counter, he reached out as subtly as he could and gave the cooler a little push. It practically freaking _flew_ across the floor with a shriek of metal on tile and barreled into the robber, knocking him over. The gun went off as the robber fell, a totally wild shot.

It hit Troy.

He felt it. The bullet _should_ have gone through his kidney, and if he wasn't such a freak of nature he'd probably have bled to death in an ambulance. Instead, he got a hole in his shirt and it tickled a little bit. He screamed -- not entirely fake, guns were loud and he was startled -- and threw himself forward as if he'd lost his balance. He landed sprawled over the robber and grabbed the gun, pulling it from the robber's hand, slid a finger around the trigger, and _snap_. It broke off.

"Oh my god!" the guy behind the counter screamed. "Are you okay? Are you -- "

"I'm fine!" Troy called back, and pulled himself to his feet. He held up the gun. "I got the gun." The man on the ground scrambled, but Troy put a foot down on his arm. Carefully, so he didn't snap it. It was still more than enough to hold him in place. "Uh, you wanna call the cops?" he suggested.

Hand still shaking, the gas station attendant pressed the alarm. And they waited like that, in stunned silence, until the police arrived, cuffed the robber, and asked what had happened.

"I don't know!" the gas station guy claimed. "He just -- that guy fell and the cooler came loose! And the gun went off, but... I didn't see where it hit..."

Troy did his best to subtly step on the crushed remains of the bullet. He really didn't need anyone finding that or asking questions. And when the officer turned to him, he just shrugged. "I was coughing. And I tripped! I was very scared." He did his best to keep his eyes open and earnest, puppy-dog style. That didn't work on his parents -- his father didn't notice and his mother didn't care very much -- but sometimes it worked on professors when he was late with papers. "Uh, here's the gun. I think it must have broken when he fell."

The officer gave him a weird look, but all he did was take his information in case they needed to contact him about the incident later, and compliment him on not panicking or anything. And with that, Troy was finally able to pay for his gas and get on his way. Late for class. Darn it.

But he couldn't really concentrate.

He'd stopped a robbery! The cops had called him a hero, even. Sure, only a lucky, accidental one -- they'd stressed that -- but still, a hero! And he hadn't been nervous or anything. And why should he be?

Okay, so he was a freak. He turned orange if he stayed in the sun too long. He could hoist his truck over his head (he'd done that once and carried it a couple of miles, when it had broken down on a lonely stretch of highway and no one was around to see), and he was pretty sure he was invulnerable. All of which was pretty cool, when he actually stopped to think about it. He just never _had_ really thought about it, because... Well, there were also the nightmares.

He woke up screaming, sometimes, and all he'd remember after were impressions of cages and needles and bright, bright lights. And the one time Troy had really gotten curious and poked around on Google to see if there were any other people like him, he'd turned up some scary stuff. Sure, there were the heroes; back in the 70s and 80s, there had been tons of heroes, and most of them had had abilities, sort of like he did. But there hadn't been many of them in the last 20 years, and everything else he'd found had been _creepy_. Stories about kids who'd been too strong, or too smart, or had some other weird ability, and who'd disappeared off the face of the earth. Conspiracy theories about what had happened to them, ranging from aliens to creepy renegade scientist, researchers who wanted to cut the kids open, dissect them _like_ aliens. People who found the kids, and took them away, and made sure they were never heard from again.

Troy _really_ did not want to be one of those kids. Given his nightmares, it was all too easy to believe that those particular conspiracy theories were true.

So he'd never thought about his abilities as anything other than freaky, and he'd done everything he could to hide them. Not even his own parents knew -- well, they knew about the orange thing, because the first it had happened, he hadn't know what was going on. His father had laughed and called him a human carrot, his mother had called him an embarrassment to be seen in public with, and eventually he'd lied and said that he'd just used the wrong kind of bronzer. It had faded after a few days, and Troy had been really careful about staying out of the sun since then, since even sunscreen didn't help.

But he'd been a _hero_. He'd stopped a bad guy and made sure that no one got hurt. That was _awesome_. And he was pretty sure he could do it again, if he happened to run into another criminal. He could go _looking_ for criminals. He could be a hero.

He could.

But scientists dissecting kids like aliens, and cages, and needles...

Troy had no idea what his professor lectured about that afternoon. His notes were nothing but doodles.

His phone rang a few minutes after his class let out. "S'up?" he asked.

"Hey, man." It was Chad. "So how's your truck? Running today?"

"Why, need a ride?" Troy asked.

"Welllllllll.... Yeah," Chad said.

"Dude," Troy laughed. "You have _got_ to get some wheels."

"I would, but, you know, kind of liquidated my savings last month."

Troy laughed again. "So are you going to _ask_ Taylor, or just keep carrying that ring around?"

"You know what, I'll take the bus. You suck."

"Kidding! I'm kidding, dude. I'm in the main lot. Meet me there."

Somehow, even though Chad's class was way further away than Troy's, Chad was already waiting by the time Troy got to his truck. Troy waved, always glad to see him. He and Chad had been roommates freshman year, back when they'd both lived on campus. Troy had opted to move back in with his folks after freshman year, since at home he had his own bathroom and kitchen and didn't have to pay to run laundry; Chad had moved in with his girlfriend, Taylor, a few weeks before the semester had started. Their place was cute, but kind of a trek from campus, which made Chad's car-less state sort of a pain. Troy didn't mind giving him rides, though. Chad always offered to go in for gas.

"So, um, I totally witnessed an attempted robbery today," Troy said conversationally.

"Seriously? Was it awesome?"

"Yeah, kinda freaky, though. I almost got shot."

"Whoa."

Troy filled Chad in on the story, minus a few key details, and kind of enjoyed how impressed Chad was, even though Troy didn't really come off like a hero in that version. Though that was okay, too. Kind of the point. After all, he liked that he'd done something good, and he didn't want anyone to know what he could do. Recognition would be cool, but doing the right thing -- that was the important part.

He gnawed on that while Chad said something about Taylor and double-date plans. Troy agreed vaguely, pretty sure he'd just agreed to find a girl somewhere to go out on Chad's date night with him even though he didn't have a girlfriend and had been perpetually single since high school, but he didn't really pay attention until Chad said, "Dude. You're like... a million miles away. You okay?"

"Just thinking."

"First time for everything, I guess," Chad said, smirking.

Troy rolled his eyes and silently vowed to get back at Chad for that, but finally continued, "What if you ... if you could do something, you know, good ... but dangerous, really dangerous, would you?"

"Huh?"

Troy sighed. "I don't know. Just -- how about this? What if you'd been at the robbery today, would you have done something?"

"Troy, dude, no one blames you for not, like, trying to take down a guy with a gun. He -- "

"I don't meant that specifically! I mean, like... Okay, what if a bunch of terrorists were holding a bank hostage or something? And you had, like, a special ability or something, and you thought you could save them, but there was a major risk that maybe everyone -- including you -- would get killed if you tried."

"What, like _Die Hard_?"

"Sort of like that, yeah. You know, how Bruce Willis was worried they'd figure him out and kill his wife? Like that. Would you do it?"

Chad considered. "Why... why do you ask?"

"No reason," Troy said quickly.

"Seriously, Troy, what...? Because you -- I mean, what did you mean by... _special ability_?"

"Nothing!" Troy yelped. "Nothing, I was just trying to describe, you know, the situation. I didn't mean like..." He glanced over at Chad. "Super powers, or something."

Chad laughed nervously. "Okay, good, because that would be crazy."

"Totally crazy."

"Yeah." Chad seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then finally shrugged. "I dunno. I don't know _what_ I'd do if someone threatened Taylor. But I guess, I mean... I don't know if I could just stand around waiting, with something like that. I'd need to do something, you know?"

"Yeah," Troy said, thinking back to the robber with the gun, and how he'd figured out what to do. "Me, too."

Chad paused. "Are you taking a philosophy class or something? Dude, did I just write an essay for you?"

"Like I'd _let_ you write an essay for me. Taylor doesn't love you for your brain, Danforth." Troy grinned. No situation was so intense he couldn't get verbally even with his best friend.

By the time he dropped Chad off at the apartment, he'd made up his mind. It was true that getting involved was dangerous: he didn't want anyone to know what he could do. And he didn't want bad guys to try and hurt his parents or friends or anything. But he had the ability -- special ability, freak ability, whatever it was -- to _help_. He could make a real difference, as long as no one knew who he was.

So he'd wear a mask.

\--

Assembling the costume was a bit trickier than he'd initially assumed. If there was a super-secret superhero tailor, well... it was _really_ super-secret, because Troy had no idea. So he spent some time running around between clothing stores and the goth accessory store in the mall and the one costume shop he could find that was open year-round instead of just at Halloween. He eventually came up with a blue spandex bodysuit and cowl, with white gloves, boots, and a belt, and he kept it stashed in his backpack so that if he happened to run into another badguy, he'd be ready.

It only took a week. Troy had a late night on campus, trying to get some actual work done before he headed home to where his father would just harangue him about not going out for basketball --which Troy totally wanted to do, but just _couldn't_; given his freak abilities, what if he accidentally killed someone? -- and then badger him into at least watching a game. So it was late when Troy climbed into his truck, and flipped on the used police scanner he'd picked up. And he happened to be in the vicinity when an alarm came through: a possible break-in at an upscale jewelry store. He slammed down on the gas and headed for the situation, stopped a block away, and changed as quickly as he could in his truck.

He got to the scene before the cops. There was someone moving inside, but it was hard to see much through the front window, as a large grate was pulled over it; he could only make out pale hair, a moving flashlight, and the sparkle of jewels. Without pausing to think about it, Troy ran for the door and just _yanked_. It not only opened, it came off in his grip. He tossed it aside and turned to see the startled thief.

She was shorter than he was, and she wore black from head to toe, including a mask, but blond hair cascaded from underneath. For some reason, she also wore a gold tiara. She had a flashlight in one hand, and a diamond necklace in the other; there was a hole in the roof above her, and a perfect circle of glass was missing from the display case next to her, though Troy didn't see any cutting tools anywhere, which was weird.

"Stop, thief!" he announced.

"What are _you_?" she returned, speaking with an English accent.

"I'm... a super hero," he said, a little unsure. "And I stop criminals!"

"I see." She dropped the necklace into a bag on her belt, and pointed at the door he'd destroyed. "I take it you're very strong."

"Well, yes," he said.

"Ah. Anything else?"

"I'm also invulnerable." He braced himself. "So no matter what, you can't stop me!"

"I see." She paused. "Can you fly?"

He blinked twice, wondering why she had asked that, but she seemed to take his silence for a no, and smiled back.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, superhero," she said, and a moment later, a thin cord dropped through the hole above her. She grabbed it with one hand and it lifted instantly. He ran forward, but he was too late to stop her. Looking up, he could see her floating away, supported from above by a gangly brunette guy wearing a rocket pack. Moments later, she was out of sight.

Sirens came from not far off.

The criminal was gone, and Troy was alone in the store, with a broken door, a hole in the roof, and a missing necklace. And he was no genius, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to still be there when the cops arrived.

With that thought firmly in mind, Troy Bolton bolted.

\--

That really, really, really had not gone as planned.

Troy had read a lot of adventure stories growing up, some fictional but _plenty_ of them just accounts of very real heroes from Duke City's past, like Pike (who'd had a magic pole that he could shape into any weapon) and El Policía (he could see the future) and Frappe (she didn't have any powers, but she was a black belt in, like, seven different forms of martial arts). And every single case had obvious steps: Find out about a criminal act in progress. (Check.) Burst in on the scene dramatically. (Check.) Banter with the criminal. (Sort of check.) Stop the crime.

Yeah.

Okay, so Troy could see _where_ he went wrong, but he wasn't quite sure what he could have done about it. It had all happened so fast, and he hadn't known that she'd exit through the ceiling! He'd figured she'd come in that way, yes, but he hadn't thought about how she might try and get _out_. And he hadn't actually thought about how he was going to stop her. And that was kind of important, too, he realized, because he couldn't just throw something heavy at every criminal he ran into. He might really hurt someone that way, and the whole point was to bring people to justice, not to mete out some kind of painful punishment.

Huh. He was going to have to think about this.

But he didn't have a chance to work out an answer because, two days later (and still with no answers), EHU's computer science building exploded.

\--

The boom echoed for blocks, loud and terrifying, and the ground rumbled. Troy looked up from the doodles in his notebook and saw everyone looking around, suddenly nervous and alert. When the screams started, no one waited for permission from the professor. Everyone just ran outside.

It was dark out, much darker than it should have been during the early afternoon. Clouds of smoke, Troy realized. Sirens started, and more screaming. He couldn't see the source of it all from where he was, but judging by the crush of bodies streaming towards him, he could figure out where it was coming from. And whatever it was... Well, it was obviously pretty bad.

So Troy ran for the nearest bathroom, changed as fast as he could, and then ran back out. He pushed through the crowd towards the source of the fire and smoke instead of away, though getting through the terrified students without accidentally injuring anyone was pretty hard.

But when he broke through he saw it. The computer science building had been leveled, leaving it literally a smoking crater. In the middle of the crater was a robot. It was made of grey metal, now covered in soot; it was vaguely humanoid, and had been draped with a bunch of enormous ugly necklaces, a scarf, and a pair of gigantic granny glasses. It cackled as it moved, rolling slowly around the crater.

Troy watched, now knowing better than to rush in. The fire squad arrived, and began to try and quell the flames. But they had no chance: the robot raised its arms and let out a metallic shriek. Something like green lightning shot from its claws towards the crew, sending up explosions where it hit. The fire crew scrambled for safety and the mechanical beast cackled.

It wasn't human, which meant Troy didn't have to feel bad if he crushed it or battered it or... He looked over at the fire truck and smiled slowly. He jogged over to where the crew members were huddled, obviously unsure what to do.

"'Scuse me," he said. "Is anyone still inside that?"

They stared at him, but finally one of them shook his head.

"Awesome," Troy said, and picked up the truck.

It was a good deal heavier than anything he'd hefted before, and sort of awkward. He dug his hands in until he'd created decent holds for himself. Everyone gaped, but he didn't have time to worry about that. He swung, almost like a baseball bat, then decided he needed some extra heft. He hoisted and turned, made a full circle once, twice, three times, and released.

The robot noticed Troy. It turned its claw to him and fired the same moment that Troy let go of the truck. As the truck hit home, crushing the robot beneath it, the lightning hit Troy's chest. He gasped, stunned -- but a moment later it faded. He exhaled.

"Whew!" he exclaimed. "That was something, huh?"

And yeah, the stunned faces on the looks of the firemen were pretty cool.

"What... But... What..." one of them managed. Then, "Look out!"

Troy grinned. Then processed. The ground started to rumble as he turned back towards the pit that had once housed the entire computer science department. The truck went up in flames, and the robot rolled out of them, scarf blazing but otherwise uninjured.

"Oh," Troy said. "Crap. Excuse me."

The robot zapped him again, but this time he managed to keep moving during the few seconds he was numb. He moved forward, towards it -- her, it was at least sort of vaguely feminine, as robots went -- and leapt into the pit.

"I don't know where you came from, or who created you," Troy announced, "but blowing up buildings and fire trucks and things is seriously uncool."

It let out another shriek, but apparently it realized that Troy was impervious to lightning bolts. Unfortunately, the ground around him wasn't.

The robot began firing underneath and just in front of him. The ground shook and exploded, dirt and debris everywhere, enough to knock Troy off his feet. But it didn't _hurt,_ just slowed him down. He rolled through it, got back to his feet, and began to run. He zig-zagged, dodging and jumping and trying to avoid the lightning and the explosions and the debris. It was difficult, but it wasn't enough to keep him from his goal.

He reached the robot. The robot reached for him. Its enormous claws grabbed him by the head, crushing his skull, lifting him in the air. But his skull must have been a million times thicker than the average person's, or at least a million times stronger. His skull didn't smush, and being shaken just sort of distracted him.

But not enough.

Flailing in midair, he managed to get one of his legs out and kicked forward, smashing the thing's chest. That stunned the robot giving him a chance to reach up and grab the thing's arms. He _pulled_ \--

\-- and they gave, tearing away from the robot's body, releasing him. He tumbled and landed on his butt on the crater, but was up a moment later. He threw the arms away from him, jumped, and that was it. One punch snapped the robot's head from its base. It sparked and sputtered, and then -- _kablooie_.

Troy shielded his face out of instinct, even though the explosion couldn't have hurt him.

And that was that for the robot.

When he looked up, people were applauding. Troy grinned and waved.

Yeah, _that_ was how it was supposed to go.

"Hey -- hey! Excuse me!"

Troy scanned the crowd and picked out one student shoving her way forward. She broke through the gawkers and firemen and waved frantically, jostling the camera that hung on a strap around her neck.

"Uh... Can I help you?" Troy asked.

She held out a recorder. "Martha Cox, I'm with the _Examiner_. Who _are_ you?"

Troy blinked. Okay, he maybe should have thought about this before. The only thing he could think of was his _real_ name, and obviously that was really not what he should say. "I'm, um, a super hero," he said, buying time.

"Well, good! But what should I _call_ you?"

"Uh. Captain!" he tried. Captain was good. It sounded strong. And brave. Yeah.

"Captain...?"

She wanted _more_? He blanked out totally and said the only thing that came to mind. Very quietly.

"What?"

"Um."

"Did you say Bolt? Captain _Bolt_?"

"Actually -- "

"Great, thanks! Smile!" She snapped a photo.

Okay. So he was Captain Bolt. Could be worse.

\--

Troy read the next day's paper while lounging in his truck, listening in on the police scanner. Martha's story was the front page of the _EHU Examiner_. She hadn't just snagged an interview with him (if two seconds of him staring blankly at her could be called an interview), she'd also harangued the police until she learned the story behind the robot.

From what the police could figure out, based on what little remained of the robot and the computer science building, the robot's body had been some grad student's thesis project gone very, _very_ awry. The program that ran it -- Data Apparatus Relentlessly Blowing Up Stuff, DARBUS for short -- was a professor's design, which had been intended for military use. On a drunken dare, the grad student had fed the DARBUS program into the robot body, and it had been a _really_ bad combination.

Troy tossed the paper aside, kicked his feet up on the dash of his truck, and shut his eyes. He dozed safely in the shade, half-listening for any interesting calls. Because now he was _sure_ that this was the right thing to do, and that he'd find a way to do what was right, no matter _who_ he faced. And after all, Tiara and Rocketman (as he'd privately dubbed the diamond thieves) were still out there.

He smiled a little. He'd get them next time.


	2. Frappe

_Six months ago..._

Zeke didn't notice anything weird about how many strangers showed up at his mother's funeral. She'd been teaching at the same dojo for decades, and their family bakery was a neighborhood institution anyway. Everyone knew Zeke's mom.

But he did notice the scuffle, because his father had to break it up.

A lithe stranger in a sharp suit, looking like he'd ducked out of a law office or something, had appeared to view the casket. And a man and woman -- Zeke didn't know their names, but they looked a little familiar, so they were probably two of his mom's former students -- stepped in front of him.

"How dare you?" the woman hissed. "What makes you think you have the right to show your face here?"

The man in the suit held up his hands, palms out. "I don't want to fight," he said. "I just came to pay my respects. Same as everyone else."

"Get. Out."

He opened his mouth to reply, but Zeke's father hurried towards them. "Calm down," he said quickly. "I don't want a fight. Not here, for god's sake. Let the man mourn, he owes her as much as everyone else."

It was obvious that the man and woman didn't like that, but they also weren't going to argue with the widower. Both stepped aside, and the man in the suit walked up to the casket. He stood there for just a few seconds, his head ducked low, and then he put a flower in the casket. He turned and walked out, only pausing to nod at Zeke and his father.

"Who was he?" Zeke asked, glancing around and noticing just how many strangers there were.

His father put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Just someone who knew your mom. Don't worry about it."

And because there were so many other things to worry about, Zeke didn't.

_Now._

The familiar streets of Monroe Heights seemed darker these days. It was melodramatic, but depressingly true. At nine o'clock, every shop was closed -- an increasing amount of them shuttered permanently. A few streetlights were burned out, and Zeke wondered why they never seemed to get replaced. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and skulked towards the bakery and the apartment he and his father shared above it.

He remembered when he was a kid, and his mother would walk him home from the dojo, holding his hand. She'd stopped to chat with just about every neighbor they passed; she knew everyone, everyone knew her. And back then, people sat outside in the evenings, chatting. Stoops were parties, and fire escapes were gardens.

Zeke wasn't the first person to wonder what had happened to his neighborhood, but at nineteen, he was probably the youngest. Not that he had time to think about it much, these days; he'd taken over his mother's martial arts classes, he worked almost full time in his father's bakery, and he was _still_ trying to keep his head above water in his two classes at EHU. When his mother had been healthy, he'd been a full-time student and able to keep on top of everything, but he'd dropped to part-time so he could take care of her, and now...

No time to think. No time to _care_. He just kept trudging forward.

A cop car rolled by. Zeke glanced up and saw the officer looking at him, but he didn't stop.

Baylor Bakery was closed, like the rest of the remaining shops, but the lights were still on behind the window grate. He could see people moving inside, not people he recognized, and he frowned. No one should have been in there, except maybe his dad.

Instead of unlocking the shop entrance, Zeke went around to the alley and let himself in through the building's side door. From there, he swung into the bakery's kitchen, and out into the main room.

He got there just in time to see someone in a leather jacket smash a display case, while someone else held his father pinned to the wall.

Zeke didn't stop to wonder who they were or what was going on. Moving was instinct; he vaulted over the counter and tackled the guy who held the bat, shoving him into the case he'd just smashed. Before the thug could recover, Zeke grabbed his arm and twisted, keeping the pressure on until he felt a snap and the man shrieked with pain. He grabbed the back of the guy's head and slammed it into the case again, then backed off and whirled to face the man who had his dad pinned.

Apparently deciding Zeke was more dangerous than his father, the man dropped Zeke's dad and rushed at Zeke. But it was an obvious, amateur move. Zeke sidestepped easily and grabbed the man by the back of his coat, yanked him off-balance, and wrapped an arm around his neck.

His father stared at him. Open-mouthed, wide-eyed _stared_. But then, his father hadn't had time to see him practice in ages; he had no idea how good Zeke had gotten in the last few years. Even Zeke hadn't _really_ known -- his mother had trained him from the time he was old enough to walk, but he'd never had to actually fight before. Not like this.

"Zeke, for god's sake, let him go!"

Now it was Zeke's turn to stare, but he did as his father said, and shoved the thug away from him. He ducked back to his father's side, baffled and angry, but mostly in shock.

The thug heaved in a breath, and behind him, the other one managed to stand and turn to face them, clutching an arm Zeke was positive was broken.

"Bad move, Baylor," said the one Zeke had headlocked. "The price just went up."

His father winced at the words. "How much?"

"Double. And..." He pointed at Zeke, eyes narrowed. "Tell your kid to mind his own goddamn business, 'cause if he interferes again..."

"He didn't know," his father said. "He's just a kid, he saw his dad in trouble -- he didn't know. Don't..."

"Like I said. Double the money, and keep him under control." He reached down to pick up the bat, tested its weight against his other palm. "Or else." He nodded at the other thug and they both walked out the main door -- right out on to the street, the welcome bells jangling as the door slammed shut.

For a long moment, they both just stood there. Finally, time seemed to start up again and Zeke half-yelled, "What the hell, Dad? Who were those guys? What's going on? What -- "

"Ezekiel!" his father interrupted. "Go get the broom; we have cleaning to do."

"Not until you tell me what's going on." Zeke crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full height -- which was more than a head higher than his father.

But while Mr. Baylor wasn't tall, he loomed large. He pointed towards the back room and said, "Sweep first, talk later."

"But Dad -- "

"Now."

And whatever righteous anger Zeke had was gone, replaced by teenage petulance. He stormed to the closet to get the broom and dustpan, and found his father trashing the baked goods from the case when he returned. He swept broken glass in silence and saw that the display light had been smashed with the glass. So that was one less display case they'd have the next day. How many fewer goods could they put out? How many fewer would they sell?

Furious at everything, absolutely everything, Zeke threw the contents of the dustpan into the trash, slammed the trash lid down, and turned to his dad. "Dad -- "

"Upstairs, in the apartment. Just let me make sure the door is locked."

Zeke waited while his father double-checked the bakery door's lock, the lock on the window grates, and the lock on the kitchen door when they finally left out the back. Upstairs in their apartment, he slid the deadbolt home behind them.

"Well?" Zeke demanded.

His father walked to the kitchen table and sat. And the weird thing was, that was what drove home for Zeke that this wasn't just a robbery or something like that -- something scary, but sort of normal. This was big.

The kitchen table was where his parents had first told him that his mother had cancer.

Zeke sat in one of the old, wooden chairs and waited, silent.

Finally his father said, "Those men work for the building's new owners. The bakery's rent just... went up."

"Again? But they just..." He shook his head. "Lease companies don't pay guys to smash cases, Dad. I'm not stupid."

"No? Because what I saw downstairs was pretty stupid."

"Dad -- "

"It's a shakedown, Zeke."

"Shakedown? Of a _bakery_? It's not like we've got any money!"

"They don't want our money. They want us gone." His father sighed. "Not just us. Everyone -- the whole neighborhood. Most of the buildings have been sold, they'll probably get knocked down and rebuilt."

"But people _live_ here." He knew it was stupid, but it was all he could think.

"And the people who _will_ live here will be able to pay twice as much in rent. But they can't build until everyone's gone, so..."

"So our rent goes up," Zeke said.

"And stubborn people like me, who haven't shut down our shops yet..." His father shrugged. "They don't want us raising a fuss. You know, calling a newspaper, telling a sob story about how it's a family business, been the heart of Monroe Heights since '65, hard times lately..."

"But that's all _true_!"

"They'd rather people read about how they're cleaning up the neighborhood. Making it safer. Newer."

"Whiter," Zeke mumbled.

His father snorted, and didn't disagree.

"So -- so what?" Zeke asked. "To make sure you don't call the paper or something, they smash our display case?"

"To make sure I get out on time." His father shook his head. "But your mother's... Your mother..." He paused, swallowed hard. "I used what was left of her life insurance payout to pay the bakery's rent. It was enough for a few months."

"_What_?" Zeke gasped.

"I wanted to put it towards your tuition. But..." He looked away. "They didn't think I'd be able to pay. So they just sent some friends over to convince me to leave anyway." He sighed, slumping. He looked defeated. And _old_. "I knew we'd be out of here someday, but I figured..."

"So that's it? We're just going to _go_? Dad!"

"I don't _want_ to," his dad snapped. "But I'll get another job. We'll get a... a smaller place. And we'll be fine."

"But we can't just let them get away with this!"

"How exactly are we going to stop them?" His father shook his head. "Maybe if your mother was still with us, but... Zeke, I want you to go away for a few weeks. You can stay with your uncle. I know it's a long trip in for classes, but I don't want you around until -- "

"I'm not going to run away! I can take care of myself. Those guys don't frighten me," Zeke said.

"_No_. Listen to me: most of 'those guys,' don't carry bats. They have guns."

"I can take a gun from a guy's hand, Dad." Which was true. At least in theory. He'd never tried to do it in real life.

"Absolutely _not_. That settles it. Go pack -- I am getting you out of here."

"But -- "

"I lost your mother. I won't lose you, too."

Zeke stood, shoving away from the table so hard his chair clattered to the floor. "So you're just going to take this? Let them run us out of our _home_? It's your bakery, dad!"

His father heaved a deep breath. "I don't like it, either. I _hate_ it, hate that they can do this to us. But if we go under -- "

"When," Zeke mumbled.

"_If_ we go under, we'll find a way to go on. We've got practice at that now."

Zeke swallowed, not sure what to say. He looked at the third chair at their round kitchen table. The one neither of them sat in, because it had always been his mom's.

"Dad..." he said softly.

"Go pack," his father said. "We'll be fine."

But it wasn't fine. And it wasn't _fair_.

\--

Zeke should have been packing. Instead, he lay on his bed, stared at his ceiling, and stewed.

It wasn't fucking _fair_. His parents were good people; they'd always worked hard. His mother had spent twenty years teaching kids, mentoring them; the bakery had been a cornerstone of the community for two generations. Until finances had forced his dad to stop, every kid on the block had always had a Baylor Cake for his or her birthday, whether or not their parents could afford it. Zeke's parents had volunteered for the neighborhood watch, they'd barbequed at block parties; they'd given everything that was ever asked of them, and then some.

No one had been able to save his mother. The doctors had tried; they'd done everything humanly possible. Zeke knew that, but that didn't make it right. That didn't make it any easier. But there was nothing they could do.

This, though.

Zeke was not about to let some fucking _thugs_ destroy everything his parents had built. He wasn't going to run away to someone else's house for a month or two while things went from bad to hopeless. There had to be something he could do. Absolutely had to be.

The cops were out. His father hadn't said it, but Zeke really wasn't stupid. Whatever the building's new owners were doing was obviously not entirely on the up-and-up; they'd have to have a cop or two in their pocket, just in case. If nothing else, to keep people like Zeke's dad too scared to do anything but leave.

But what could he possibly do? Zeke thought about all the shops that had closed, the people who'd moved out when the rent increases were too much. And he couldn't think of a damn thing he could do about it.

"Zeke, get packing!" his father yelled, stomping by his room.

"I am!" Zeke yelled back, and finally got up. He inhaled deeply but it didn't calm him down. He opened his door, to find his father standing outside. "Where's the luggage?"

"Your mom's... The closet in my room," his father said.

Zeke nodded, and let his hand rest on his father's shoulder for a second before he walked by. When Zeke opened the closet door, for a moment it smelled like her perfume. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, before getting to work. The closet was still full -- his father hadn't worked up to getting rid of any of his mom's things yet. The family's old, battered luggage was on the floor. Big suitcase, check. But for the smaller size, only her ugly floral one. He pushed it aside and looked further back, but that was just rows of shoes. He sighed, backed out, and looked up on the shelf. Another large suitcase, but behind that, maybe... He reached up to haul it down, but it was half-packed and awkwardly weighted. He lost his balance for split second and leaned against the doorframe to regain it. He felt something weird in the doorframe give, heard a click, and...

And the back of the closet swung away.

Zeke stared.

It opened to a second closet. He pushed through the still-hanging dresses and found a light switch just beyond the false wall. And illuminated he could see... "Oh my god," he said aloud. "Oh my _god_."

There were boxes and boxes of files, and shelves of albums and scrapbooks. A tiny dresser. But all of those were incidental. Centered on the back wall, hanging behind glass, was a costume. Zeke recognized it; Frappe was an icon in his neighborhood, even a decade and a half after she'd last been seen. And that was _her_ costume, worn but preserved perfectly: a black variation of the judogi over a bulletproof vest; silver boots, belt, gloves, and a Zorro-style mask. Simple, but striking.

"No _way_." He reached for the nearest scrapbook, pulled it open, and stared at the first picture. It was a newspaper clipping from when Frappe had taken down a group of terrorist hostage takers in city hall, and she'd saved they mayor. Zeke concentrated on her, tried to ignore the costume and mask, and looked at her features. Her eyes, her cheekbones; how tall she was, the shape of her body.

It was his mom.

"Zeke!" his father called.

"Coming!" Zeke yelled back, and backed out of the closet quickly. He flicked the light off, pulled the door shut, and grabbed the suitcase he'd abandoned. He dropped the album into it and pulled it from the closet, as his father walked into the room. "Found it," he said.

"Good. I just -- I know you don't like this, but I want you to be safe."

Zeke nodded. "Yeah. Just -- maybe I'll go at the end of the week, okay? I'll lay low until Friday, and then I'll head off. So I won't have classes to worry about for the first few days."

His father nodded. "Okay. But you're working in the back until then. I don't want you at the counter if they come back..."

"Yeah," Zeke agreed. "You going to bed?"

His father nodded.

"'Kay. Goodnight, Dad." He hurried out with the suitcase and waited until he was sure his father had settled. Then he locked his bedroom door, and pulled out the album. It was full of news clippings about Frappe from the late 80s. There were only a few pictures; she'd been notoriously camera shy. But very effective: according to one article, she'd collared more villains than any other hero of her era. And she went after villains who, according to journalists, were the _real_ menace. Not just costumed crooks, though she dealt with her fair share of them, too, but also white collar criminals. _And_ they said she was almost single-handledly responsible for kicking the mob out of Duke City.

And it wasn't really a coincidence that Frappe had gotten her start taking out thugs in Monroe Heights.

One photo in particular was actually really good; Zeke had no idea how it had been taken. It showed Frappe with her arms crossed, staring at the camera. She looked firm, aggressive -- but she was smiling, just a tiny bit. Zeke knew that look. It was the look she'd had every time he'd been grounded, or she'd had to lecture him or remind him to do his homework.

Frappe had stopped patrolling in the early 90s, when Zeke was a toddler. No one knew why, though some people had guessed it was simply age. She'd been around for almost twenty years, after all, and if her reflexes had started to slow down, it might have proved deadly. Other people thought she'd died, or even been killed. There had been no big announcement, no retirement party. But Frappe was a part of Duke City's history, a part that belonged to Monroe Heights.

Frappe was his _mom_.

_"If your mother was still with us..."_ his father had said. But she wasn't.

But Zeke was. And his mother had trained him from the time he'd started walking.

It was his neighborhood, and he wasn't going to go without a fight.

\--

Zeke's father snored. Zeke knew that -- apartment walls were thin -- but for a change, he was grateful. Because, the way he saw it, if he couldn't sneak in to his father's room, nab the outfit, and sneak out, he'd have no chance of sneaking up on actual villains.

He waited for the snores to be deep and long, his father so out of it that nothing would bother him. Then, clad in his pajamas, Zeke padded barefoot into his father's room. He opened the closet door and cringed when it creaked, but his father just sputtered and rolled over. Zeke froze until he was sure his father hadn't been disturbed, then pressed the doorframe. The false wall swung open.

He pulled the closet door shut behind him, then groped forward in the dark, moving slowly and carefully. He found the light switch of the hidden closet and flicked it on, regarded his mother's costume. It wouldn't fit him well -- she was a lot curvier than he was, and he was slightly taller -- but it would be better than nothing. He found the latch on the glass case and it swung open easily.

Examining the outfit revealed a number of deep pockets sewn into the top, all fastened shut, and full of small gear: a bunch of sets of handcuffs, some electronics he didn't recognize, a thin metal strip, and something he was pretty sure was a lockpick. But that made sense, too, since Frappe would have had to get into closed-off places. He gathered all the pieces in his arms and made his way out, switched the light off, and pulled the door shut. He waited in the main closet again, pausing until he heard his father's snores, then padded out lightly and back to his bedroom.

He was right that the costume didn't fit. The pants were too short and not really shaped for him, but he could keep them on with the belt, thankfully. The bulletproof vest had adjustable straps; he kept on a thin undershirt, pulled the vest on, and then the top. He took out the electronics he didn't recognize and stashed them in one of his dresser drawers, figuring he'd work that out later, then pulled on the gloves. There was no way he was going to fit into his mom's boots, so he stashed those, too, and substituted a pair of black sneakers.

He tied on the mask, covering most of his face above his nose, and looked at himself in the mirror. And blanched. He looked like a kid dressed up for Halloween. But what else was he going to do? Nervous, not really believing he was doing this, he opened his bedroom window and slipped out.

The streets were dark. It was almost one in the morning, and there were still people out -- but not many, since it was a weeknight. He avoided the main drag and kept to alleys, but kept his eyes peeled. He needed to find them, whoever "they" were. He needed to find something; to find someone busting up shops, or threatening people, or... _something_. He couldn't stop badguys if he didn't know who they were.

But... nothing. Of course not, it wasn't going to be that easy. So instead of heroic and daring, he was just a weirdo in a mask, holding perfectly still every time someone walked too close. And there were no signs of the guys who'd busted up the bakery; he had no idea where to look for them.

By 4 AM, he was ready to give up the whole idea as stupid. Yes, he had physical training, but what was he thinking, really? That bad guys would just appear and stand there, waiting for him to punch them? Life didn't work like that. He had no idea how his mother had done this, but obviously not just by wandering the streets. He turned to head home, figuring that at least there was no harm done. No one had seen him, no one would point and laugh. His father wouldn't even know. And at the end of the week, he would head off and away...

And give up. Damn it.

He was almost back to his apartment when he heard someone yell, "Hey!" He dashed towards the sound and almost collided with a man carrying a purse, running full out. Zeke could barely see a woman a block away, running frantically towards them, and knew instinctively that it was a mugging. And that, at least, he could stop.

The man pushed away from him and took off, but Zeke was quicker and overtook him easily. He grabbed the mugger's jacket and yanked, pulling him off balance; with an easy leg swipe he had the guy laid out on the pavement. The mugger struggled, rolling over to try and get up, but Zeke brought his foot down on the man's arm, as he reached for the handcuffs in his pocket.

"What the...?" the mugger muttered, as Zeke snapped one of the cuffs on his wrist. Zeke hauled him up and shoved; the man stumbled back, almost crashing into a lamp post. Perfect. Zeke pulled the free end of the cuffs around the post and then snapped it on to the man's other wrist, leaving him stuck there. He picked up the purse and tossed it to the woman, who was now almost caught up to them.

She caught it and eyed him suspiciously, but began rifling through it to make sure everything was there. "Who _are_ you?" she asked, looking back up.

Zeke felt kind of awkward about it, but he said, "Frappe. Uh, the second. You should call the cops to come pick him up."

He turned around and headed back to the alley and the shadows, going home. He hadn't done much, but at least that was something.

\--

Zeke fell into bed a little after 5, and had to be up at 8 to make his classes at EHU -- next semester he was definitely _not_ going to take anything in the morning. He brought a thermos of coffee with him and almost drifted off on the bus, wandered past the student center to the building where his lecture was held, and stopped, staring at an abandoned paper on the sidewalk.

It was a copy of the morning's _EHU Examiner_. And he was on the front page. It was a large, grainy picture, evidently taken with a cell phone -- by the woman whose purse he'd rescued. There wasn't much to the article, but there was an enormous headline, reading simply "Frappe -- II?"

That made it a little hard to concentrate in class, but no one seemed to notice him or anything. And why would they? The whole point of the costume was the anonymity, wasn't it?

Except, if his father saw it, there was no way he wouldn't guess. And all he'd have to do was check the secret closet, see the costume missing, and he'd be sure. But it was a campus paper, and Monroe Heights was all the way on the other side of the town, and surely...

Surely nothing, because the article was hanging up in the bakery window. Zeke groaned and went inside through the bakery, hurried up to the apartment, and got busy making lunch. His father would be way too busy downstairs to --

"Ezekiel!"

Zeke hung his head and set down the spatula. "Yeah, dad?"

"Anything you want to tell me?"

Zeke turned to face him, still standing in the doorway. He shrugged. "Not... not really."

"Uh huh." His father stepped inside finally, shut and locked the door behind him. He stared at Zeke for a long moment, then said, "The day your mother retired was the happiest of my life. I didn't know what she did when I fell for her, and I could never have asked her to stop. But I was an insomniac for years."

"Dad..."

"I couldn't sleep," his father continued vehemently, "because I had no idea where my wife was, what she was doing, if she was ever coming home. Sometimes she'd disappear for days. I was half out of my mind. I -- " He made a noise, something between choking and laughing. "I perfected so many recipes on those nights, when I was awake and waiting for her to come home. Couldn't help her; had to do _something_."

"But I -- "

"_Listen_ to me, Zeke. I had to do something, but I couldn't do a thing to help except bake and pray and hope that she'd come home. My biggest fear... My biggest fear was that I'd find out she was dead from a newspaper. It was living hell. But I never asked her not to do it."

"Dad..."

"It was something she had to do. She couldn't _not_ help, she didn't know how. She wanted to right every wrong, save everyone she met. That was why I loved her." He cleared his throat. "She didn't want this for you. We talked about that, about how we would never let our son put himself in that kind of danger. We were _never_ going to tell you who she was, not _ever_.

"But I guess this is just how we raised you. To play fair and always do the right thing, and always try your hardest."

"_Dad_..."

"I should have known you'd figure it out. You're so much like her I could cry." He shook his head. "I need to go back to work, just -- I want you to know what it's like for me, not knowing where you are. I want you to know that, so I can be sure you're always careful. Because son, if you -- I -- I won't ask you not to do this, but if you get yourself killed, I will _never_ forgive you. So promise me you'll be careful."

Zeke could barely speak. He nodded, swallowed, and found his voice. "I promise."

His father nodded back, turned around, and opened the door. But he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "I think we're okay downstairs without you, just this once. Get some sleep."

\--

Zeke felt a little more confident his second night out. Yes, he kept to the shadows, skulking and moving carefully, but he felt less silly about it. If his father thought he could do it, then he could. He just had to figure out _how_. But by the end of the night -- 4 AM again -- he still had no solution, no shop-busting thugs, and not even any muggers. At least, not that he could find.

Sighing, he trudged home.

He made it as far as the alley by his apartment before someone attacked him. He reacted instinctively, throwing the assailant off his back and turning. The man was somewhere past middle age, with brown skin and grey hair, which was a surprise. And he was wearing expensive-looking athletic gear, another surprise. Obviously, he wasn't a run-of-the-mill mugger, so Zeke watched him warily and waited.

It was a few seconds before the man tried again. But this time, Zeke was ready. He met the charge by bending down and getting his shoulder into the man's chest. The man lost control, Zeke tripped him, got him laid out on his stomach on the ground, then dropped to pin him with a knee.

"Who _are_ you?" Zeke rumbled, trying to keep his voice low and gravely.

His assailant laughed. "Good reflexes, kid. I'm too old for this shit." He shook his head. "But then, your mama, she never woulda let me get the drop on her to begin with."

"Who are you?" he repeated, and applied some pressure with his knee for a few seconds.

The man sputtered, but finally said, "Aaron Kingsley. Hope you don't mind the whole dark alley thing, but I couldn't resist taking the new kid out for a spin, seeing if you're as good as she was. Now if you'll let me up, maybe we can talk."

"Maybe if you talk now, I'll consider letting you up."

Kingsley laughed again. "Fine. I'm -- I _was_ something of a crook, back in the day. They called me the Crime King in the papers, but I never did the costume thing. Your mama and I were... What do you kids call it? Frenemies?"

Zeke narrowed his eyes, but then the memory clicked. _This_ guy. He recognized him. This was the man who'd been at his mother's funeral, who her students hadn't wanted there. Or _had_ they been her students...? Who else knew about his mother's identity?

"You were a crook," Zeke said. "And she brought you in."

"Repeatedly. I had good lawyers, though, almost always got out on a technicality. It made her furious, you know, but she finally got me on charges I couldn't shake. She finally put me away. Fifteen years in the clink." But he said it all with a smile, like it was old news, amusing.

"What do you want?" Zeke demanded. "What are you doing here? Why did you attack me? What -- "

"Want some advice, kid? When it comes to lowlifes, only ask one question at a time. Keep it to the point. Hired goons are easily confused."

"_You're_ no hired goon."

"True." He struggled for a second, then sighed. "But I am out of shape, and out of practice. Let me up, and let's talk. I'm not gonna run for it."

"Why should I trust you?"

Kingsley shrugged, or did the best impression of a shrug he could while pinned to the ground. "You're gonna have to rely on your instincts if you stay in this biz long."

Zeke stared him down. And finally moved off of him, let him stand up and straighten his shirt. "Talk," Zeke ordered.

"Okay, okay. I came looking for you because I wanted to see the kid who was calling himself Frappe. Your mother -- she meant a lot to a lot of people. You've got _all_ that to live up to, and I just wanted to make sure you got off to a good start. 'Cause if you couldn't take an old man like me down, well, then you're dead meat in a week."

"So? What's that matter to _you_?"

Kingsley looked him in the eye and said, "It matters because I loved your mom, kid."

"_What_?"

"You heard me." He sighed. "It's -- It's a funny thing, ain't it? After the first time your mom caught me, I wanted revenge. I spent a couple years trying to show up her up, but she always brought me down. I stopped doing crime for the money, started doing it just to try and get to her. There was something about her, something... incorruptable. I wanted to know what she was like, what made her tick. I wanted to see what was behind the mask... Under the costume."

He leered. Zeke grabbed his collar and slammed him against the wall. "That's my mom you're talking about," he hissed.

Kingsley held his hands up, open and earnest. "Just a joke, kid. But..." He sighed. "I _did_ fall for her. Everyone knew it. And she told me, she only wanted one thing from me. Honesty. But I couldn't do it. Not back then. By the time I was ready to reform... By the time she put me away the last time, it was too late for all that. She'd met your dad."

"How did you even know who she was?"

He shrugged. "I was obsessed with her, knew everything there was to know about her. She was good, but not perfect. She let one detail slip, and I worked it out. And I saw that picture in the paper today -- it wasn't great, but someone your height? Your age? Wearing her exact costume -- not updating it at all? I saw you a few months ago, knew what to look for. I knew it had to be you."

"So you decided to attack me?"

"Like I said, I wanted to see how good you are. Answer's what I figured: a hell of a lot better than me." He rubbed his neck, where Zeke had grabbed him.

"So?"

"So..." He shrugged, body language changing to the point where he looked uncomfortable. "I really did love your mom, kid. And she saved me, saved my life. Figured the least I could do was make sure _you_ were okay, and not gonna shame her legacy."

"Well, I won't."

"No?" He raised his eyebrows. "'Cause so far, I'm guessing you ain't done _squat_. That's why I'm here. I'm reformed -- honest man now, absolutely. But I still keep my ear to the ground, try and stay informed. Figured you could use a pointer." He relaxed a little. "Follow the money."

"What?"

"That's how you figure out who you're looking for. _Follow the money_. That's how your mom got me: it's real hard to prove some of the stuff crooks do, but there's always a money trail. For you, that starts with the lease company, right? If you can prove they're doing something illegal financially, you nail 'em. And if not, at least you find a place to get started. They'll be paying goons; figure out who the goons are and start busting 'em up. Drive the cost of doing business in your neighborhood up far enough, and they'll stop doing it. It's _always_ about money."

Zeke considered. That made sense. He was actually sort of irritated that he hadn't considered it himself. He nodded and said, "Yeah, okay."

"Okay?" Kingsley straightened his shirt again. "Good. Get 'em cleaned out of here, kid." He took a step away, reached into his pocket. Zeke tensed, but all he produced was a card. "And call me if you need me."

Zeke nodded, accepted the card, and waited warily until Kingsley was gone from the alley. Then he went back up the fire escape, changed, and collapsed in bed, his head spinning.

\--

Friday, Zeke had only one class, thankfully. He almost slept through his bus stop on the way there, and it was all he could do to keep from nodding off in class. On his way home, though, he noticed something sort of weird -- other shops in his neighborhood had the newspaper picture of him up in their windows.

He decided to skip lunch in favor of a quick nap, and as he drifted off, it clicked. His father's bakery wasn't the only shop getting shaken down. And his father wasn't the only one counting on him.

He had a _lot_ to live up to.

He couldn't sleep; instead he worked with the lock pick from his mother's equipment. It took him almost an hour to get it the first time, but once he figured out what it felt like when the lock pins fell into place, he was able to do it again and again in less time.

That night, he waited for his father to go to bed, then got up and rifled through the bakery's legal paperwork. He found the address of the building's new lease company, changed into his costume, and headed out. It was harder to stay inconspicuous as he passed from Monroe Heights into more upscale areas of town, but he could almost hear his mother whispering in his ear. _Patience_. He stuck to the shadows, moved only when he was sure, and froze when people were near. It took him longer than he'd have liked to reach the building where the leasers were headquartered.

From across the street, he counted up floors and then across by windows, until he was reasonably sure he had found the right suite. He headed towards the fire escape and jumped to catch the bottom; from there, pulling himself up and onto the ladder was easy. He hurried upwards, still careful to keep an eye on his surroundings, and tried the window. But it was latched from the inside, and the lock pick wouldn't work on the latch.

He stared at it for a long minute, mind racing. He was absolutely not going to give up -- that wasn't a question. He could break the glass, but that would definitely alert security, and he wasn't sure that only a minute or two inside would be enough, or how he'd get away. That was out. So he had to find some way to jimmy the latch...

He studied it, and thought about the equipment he had with him, and then let out a long breath. Okay, he _could_ do this, probably. He pulled the metal strip from its pocket; he hadn't had any idea what his mom had used it for, but it was small and light, so he'd kept it anyway. And maybe this wasn't what it was intended for, but hey. Improvisation was good, right?

He slid the metal strip under the window, between it and the frame. It was a tight fit and hard to maneuver, but he managed to slide it across, up against the latch, and pushed. At first, nothing; the strip was so thin it was malleable and he couldn't put much pressure on it or he'd just bend the metal. But after another few attempts, he must have loosened the window just a little, because the latch gave when he pressed against it. And with that, he was able to push the window up and duck inside.

Wow. Breaking and entering. Funny, he'd never thought about just how much of that superheroes actually had to do.

He glanced at a packet of stationery left on one of the desks; the letterhead told him he was in the right spot. He hurried through the suite until he found the plushest office, and began looking through the desk drawers. Nothing. He tried the filing cabinets. The top drawers were just more paperwork, lots of things he barely understood; he made a mental note to take a business class next semester, so he'd have a better idea what he was dealing with in the future.

But the bottom drawer was locked. And with a pretty good lock, too. He'd been able to wrench open the other drawers, with only their cheesy, built-in locks, but this was bigger. He fiddled with the pick, but had no luck.

"Damn," he muttered, and started to pull away, then stopped.

It was a freaking _filing cabinet_.

He went back to a drawer he'd already leafed through, the one right on top of the locked one. He wrenched it out entirely, set it down on the floor, and was able to reach in through the gap and pull out the files inside the bottom drawer. And while the first few were nothing important as far as he could tell, the next folder had a map of Monroe Heights in it. Properties were marked off with circles; Zeke recognized the shops that had already shuttered, because they had slashes through them.

The next page was renovation plans. The neighborhood was going to be bulldozed, replaced with a shopping complex and a series of condos. And the rent points on them were way above what most of the people in his neighborhood could afford. Which probably wasn't illegal, but it really wasn't fair. There were families who'd been living in the Heights for generations. And no one else would see anything wrong with it -- it was just gentrification, wasn't it? Revitalizing a neighborhood sounded like a great plan, but doing it by driving out the people who already lived there?

No way. Not his home.

But buying land and building on it _wasn't_ illegal. On the other hand, trying to scare out the people who lived there? Breaking things? _That_ was. And with the last few pages in the folder, he figured out how to nail them. Because it wasn't like the business guys in suits were the ones out breaking things.

\--

Patience really was a virtue. With copies of the file he'd found in hand, and a tape recorder from his mom's equipment, he waited outside an apartment complex that _should_ have held one of the thugs hired to terrorize the shops. But Zeke had checked, and he wasn't home. So Zeke waited.

And then Zeke recognized his mark, because this man's arm was in a sling. Zeke started forward, but froze. The man's arm was in a sling because Zeke had broken it. A series of angry red cuts ran across the man's cheek -- doubtlessly from the glass case, when Zeke had bashed his head into it. Zeke barely remembered doing it; he hadn't thought at _all_ as it was happening. He'd lost his mind a little when he'd seen his dad in trouble, and now...

Now some guy had a broken arm and a face that looked like dog food. He deserved it, so Zeke didn't feel _bad_ about it; but Zeke had never realized just how badly he could hurt someone -- _had_ hurt someone. He couldn't let that stop him, but it also meant he had to be careful.

He waited for the thug to pass by the alley, then stepped out, rushed the two steps to get close to him, grabbed the back of his collar, yanked, and kicked the back of the thug's knees. The man dropped like a stone and Zeke pinned him face-down on the cement, checked for weapons, and said, "Hi."

The man stared at him.

"I'm pretty new at this," Zeke admitted. "So if you want, I can do the whole... beat you up, intimidation, make you talk thing. But I don't know. It looks like someone took care of that for me already, so that would just be gratuitous violence. How about you just tell me what I want to know, and that's that?"

"Fuck you," the thug spat, and tried to roll out of Zeke's grip. Zeke let him get onto his back, then pinned him again.

"Okay, violence it is," Zeke said, grabbing a fistful of hair, and continued, "For every question you answer, I _won't_ smash your skull into the pavement."

"What do you _want_?"

"That's better. I want to know who's cutting you checks for smashing up shops in the Heights."

"What?"

Zeke smashed his head into the ground. "You heard me. You know, I can do this all night."

The man groaned, heaved a breath -- hard, with Zeke's bulk pinning him -- and finally said, "McAllister."

"Who?"

"Theo McAllister. He's in charge of security for Upscale Construction, they're -- "

"The firm that's going to do the rebuilding," Zeke realized, remembering it from the file he'd read. "Thanks."

He turned the tape recorder off, cuffed the thug, called the cops from the nearest pay phone, and left him for the police to collect.

\--

Theo McAllister was in the phone book. He lived in a wealthy section of the city, an area where there wasn't much unobserved space for Zeke to lurk in while he waited. Zeke decided he was better off not taking his chances there, and instead went to the guy's office. That meant another break-in -- he was getting a little more confident in those -- and more paperwork. He _really_ had never pictured how much heroics would involve skimming contracts. But there they were, more plans: the demolition date for his neighborhood was just two months away.

Two _months_. Buildings would come down, and everyone would have to be out by then. No wonder the shakedowns had gotten worse. They were on a tight deadline.

Zeke sat in McAllister's chair and thought about it. The he got up, copied some paperwork, braced himself, kicked out a window, and waited. An alarm went off, but he was willing to bet that the police weren't the only ones called. McAllister _was_ the head of security, after all.

Sure enough, after fifteen minutes, there were still no cops. But Zeke waited, and then --

"Be careful. Word on the street is some kid calling himself Frappe is out for blood." Zeke waited, still and silent, listening. He heard two people, who split up as they searched; he stepped into the shadows and waited until one of them came into the room, skulking and holding a gun. Time for Zeke to really figure out if he was as good as he hoped he was.

Zeke came out of the shadows fast, aiming a kick high at the man's hand. He dropped the gun but recovered fast enough to dive for it. Zeke dove too, knocked it away from them, and managed to get an elbow into the thug's face as they both hit the floor. The man grunted and tried to pin Zeke, but he was obviously used to relying on the fact that he was big, without any real training. Zeke could read his movements easily. Zeke rolled to the side and up to his feet in a fluid motion, grabbed the first thing that came to hand -- the desk chair -- and smashed it against the man's back. It knocked the man's wind out for long enough that Zeke was able to grab the gun from the floor and secure it in his top.

The noise was enough to bring McAllister. Zeke braced himself -- taking on more than one person at a time was also something he'd only done in practice. McAllister walked in cautiously, gun in hand. He had it trained on Zeke in a moment, and Zeke froze. He heard the other thug stagger to his feet, but he didn't move any closer, so Zeke concentrated mostly on McAllister.

"Frappe, right?" McAllister asked casually.

"Yeah."

"Any relation to the original?" He said it with a smirk, far too amused.

"She trained me." Which was true. More or less.

"Didn't do a very good job." McAllister stepped closer. "You shouldn't have gotten involved."

Zeke glanced down at the man's feet, then up at his hand. He resisted the urge to step forward, closer. That would be a tip-off. _Patience_. "Had to do something," Zeke said instead. And if he kept very, very still, well, that probably just looked to McAllister like he was nervous about the gun.

McAllister just stared him down.

Zeke continued, "I mean, come on. Why does revitalizing a neighborhood mean getting rid of all the people who already live there?"

"There's money to be made in the Heights. And not just by people selling drugs." Another step forward.

"That was pretty racist," Zeke said, his voice cool. "But then again, probably not a coincidence that most of the people on the blocks you're leveling are black, huh?"

"Race has nothing to do with it. Rebuilt, those properties are worth billions in a city this crowded! The people who can afford to pay it _will_, and everyone else can..."

"Yeah, I know what you think everyone else can do." Zeke swallowed. Still not close enough. "So what was the deal? You get everyone out of the Heights by any means necessary, and you get the building contract? Faster than evicting everyone, and if people get hurt, someone gets killed... Cost of doing business, right?"

"Exactly." Another step forward. "Put your hands up," McAllister ordered.

Close enough. Zeke moved his hands slowly at first -- then struck, grabbing McAllister's wrist with his left hand and pulling it down. With his right, he jabbed McAllister in the face, then grabbed the gun and wrenched it around. There was a horrible cracking noise and Zeke felt McAllister's index finger snap -- but he got the gun.

Thank god _that_ had worked.

He shoved McAllister away, switched the safety on, tucked the gun in his belt, and turned to face the thug he'd already disarmed. The man threw his hands up and backed up a few steps. Good. Zeke looked back at McAllister, who was bent over, clutching his hand. He knocked McAlliser to the floor and got a set of cuffs around one of his wrists when the other thug made a break for it. Zeke leapt to his feet to block him, managed to grab his shirt, and shoved him towards the desk. The thug tripped over McAllister and crashed into the desk. Zeke grabbed him and knocked his feet out from under him, snatched the dangling cuff from McAllister's wrist, and snapped it on the thug.

He stood, pulled out the tape recorder, rewound it, and left it along with the papers he'd copied. Then he called 9-1-1, retreated out the window, and waited from the shadows of the fire escape.

The police arrived. They found the evidence, all carefully left for them, and Zeke waited long enough to hear them reciting Mirandas before taking off. He had no idea if the charges would stick -- but it would be exactly the bad press the lease company wanted to avoid. The public outcry, if nothing else, would keep the neighborhood safe, at least for awhile. And after that...

He'd be ready. More experienced. And he'd find someone to buy a whole bunch of new handcuffs from, because he was already almost out.

When he made it back to the apartment, he was totally exhausted and dawn was breaking. Thank god it was Saturday, and he could sleep for a few hours before he had to head down to work at the bakery. He glanced around, glad his father wasn't waiting up, and looked forward to seeing what his father would think the next day, when the news broke.

Then again, maybe he already knew. There was a plate of fresh cookies on the table, still warm from the oven.

He fell into bed, barely pausing to put the costume away.

_Weeks later._

"Zeke!"

Zeke hurried out of his room, where he'd been napping -- cat naps were his new specialty, since his schedule didn't leave time for much else -- and out into the main room of the apartment. His father was frowning at a newscast on the television.

"What's this?" Zeke asked.

"Aaron Kingsley announcing his new venture." He crossed his arms.

Zeke watched as, on the screen, Kingsley announced that after his time in jail and the years spent alone since, pondering all he'd done, he'd finally figured out how to make everything up to the world at large. He was planning to give back, and he'd start by revitalizing a few down-on-their-luck neighborhoods. Like Monroe Heights, where he'd recently acquired a lot of property.

Zeke sank into a chair, eyes shut. "They sold it cheap just to get it off their hands, after the whole McAllister mess," he realized.

"And now Kingsley owns it," his father finished for him.

"He used me." Zeke clenched a fist.

\--

The security around Kingsley's upscale apartment was pretty good, but Zeke's breaking and entering skill set had improved rapidly and he no longer felt the need to shy away. He let himself in and flipped on the light in Kingsley's bedroom in the middle of the night.

Kingsley sat up abruptly and stared at him. Zeke threw himself forward before he could so much as get out of bed, and pinned him to the headboard.

"I don't like being used," Zeke growled.

Kingsley let out a panted breath. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, kid."

"You got me to take out McAllister so you could get the land at a bargain price."

"Well, I didn't have the resources to outbid him for the contract," Kingsley admitted. "But I don't get why you're so pissed. I'd tend to think of this more as... mutually beneficial."

"What?" Zeke shook him, just because he could.

"I meant what I said when I announced the project today. I'm going to fix up the neighborhood. Back off, and I'll explain." When Zeke didn't move, he sighed. "I'm _old_, kid. I'm in my pajamas. Where exactly do you think I'm gonna run to?"

Zeke didn't allow himself a smile, but Kingsley was damn charismatic, if nothing else. He let the man go -- but didn't back off very far.

"People talk like fixing neighborhoods means rebuilding from the ground up. I used to think like that. Twenty years ago, my plan woulda been exactly what McAllister and those guys tried. Now, though... Tell me, how long has your daddy's bakery been in business?"

"What?"

"Two generations, right? Your grandfather opened it in the 60s. Until someone tried to run you guys out, you never had a problem staying open, turning a profit. Why shouldn't other businesses be the same? But banks hear people want a loan to open up in the Heights, and it's an automatic rejection. You and I both know why that is."

Zeke waited.

"Look," Kingsley finally said. "I did my time, and I reformed, and now I'm going to do some good. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to turn a profit -- but not at anyone else's expense."

"Why should I believe you?" Zeke asked.

Kingsley shrugged. "You gotta trust your instincts."

Zeke backed up again and said, "Start by getting the streetlights fixed."

Kingsley nodded. "I will."

"Good. And Kingsley? I'll be watching."

And with that, he turned the light back off and melted into the shadows. Zeke really had gotten a lot better with practice.

And he _would_ be watching.


	3. Strawberry Sugar

Gabriella looked around the library, bored. A few students were milling around, but it was a Saturday afternoon, and who wanted to study on a Saturday? At her last school, she'd loved working at the reference desk on slow days, when no students were around. It had been a great chance to hang out with her best friend, another student librarian.

Of course, that had been before Gabriella had accidentally found out that her best friend was cheating on her boyfriend, and she'd _had_ to tell the boyfriend because, well, that just wasn't _okay_. She'd known it would cost her the friendship, because it wasn't the first time something like that had happened, but it still sucked. Choosing between a friendship and doing the right thing _always_ sucked.

She sighed wistfully. The EHU library's reference desk was half a floor removed from the main desk, so she couldn't have chatted with the other workers, even if she'd known them. And since she'd already finished her reading and paper-writing for the week, she didn't even have work to do to pass the time. The few reference books sitting around the desk waiting to be reshelved were incredibly dull, but there wasn't much else there, except some copies of the student newspaper.

She picked up a copy of the _Examiner_, figuring it would be better than nothing, and broke into a smile when she saw Captain Bolt on the front page. There had been a robbery at a jewelry store in the Duke City suburbs, though only one thing had been stolen: a particularly clear diamond. The perpetrator seemed to be the same tiara-wearing thief who'd been plaguing the southwest for months, and Duke City in particular. It wasn't her first run-in with Captain Bolt, either, but so far he had been utterly unable to stop her.

That wasn't a huge shock. Gabriella had been paying attention to the Captain's exploits -- he was very interesting, and the fact that he was cute to boot didn't hurt any -- and she'd already worked out that he was bad at fighting in enclosed spaces. When he did, there tended to be lots of property damage, and it seemed like pure luck that he had never injured any bystanders.

"Excuse me?"

She set aside the paper and looked up. Right into the dreamiest pair of eyes she'd ever seen. They were grey-blue, brightened by the blue t-shirt the boy had on; his hair was a little shaggy, and his smile was swoon-worthy. But Gabi must have stared for a moment too long, because he cleared his throat and looked embarrassed.

Right, she was at work. He probably needed help.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, perky.

"I'm working on this paper for class... I mean, of course it's for a class," he said, setting a notebook down on the desk. "Uh, it's this really boring thing about... superheroes in the 80s, I guess, and... like, property damage law suits?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Yeah, like, my professor wants me to research if any of them were sued or, uh, arrested or anything. For, like, breaking stuff. While they were fighting crime."

"Your professor wants you to look that up?" she repeated. "He didn't know already? When he assigned you the paper?"

"It, um, I wasn't actually paying that much attention," the cute, but apparently very dumb, boy said.

She giggled. "Oh, I see."

"If you could just, um, point me towards some books..."

She gestured wordlessly around the library.

"I meant the, uh, legal ones."

"Third floor, near the back," she said. "And if you have any heroes in particular in mind, you can probably search the catalogue... Let me know if you need help with that, okay?"

"Sure, thanks." He paused. "Hey, I haven't seen you around before. Are you new?"

She nodded. "It's my first semester at EHU. Midyear transfer."

"Ohhh. Well." He flashed her a smile, which was nearly as good as his eyes. "I'm probably too late to be the first to welcome you, huh?"

"By about a month," she agreed. "But thanks."

"No problem. I'll... maybe see you around," he said.

She nodded. She kind of _hoped_ so.

He gathered up the notebook he'd left on the desk and started towards the stairs. Gabriella tapped her fingers against the desk and watched him walk away. His jeans were low on his hips, despite his belt; she could see a flash of pale boxers underneath... Hm.

She didn't exactly _mean_ to do it, but she tilted her head and concentrated on the carpet in front of him. It bunched, just as he went to put his foot down. He stumbled, and she stared at his notebook. It all but flew out of his hand, falling forward as much as down, almost like it was defying gravity.

Which it kind of was.

Gabriella _tried_ not to use her powers, but sometimes it was hard to stop herself. So many people often came so close to saying what they really thought that what they really thought just about screamed in her mind, and she was stuck always trying to do the right thing with a lot of unwanted truths. And no matter how right the right thing was, people rarely appreciated it, and they always ended up hating her.

As for moving things with her mind... that was just _weird_. She kept it a secret and tried not to do it, but she always made a mistake eventually. Her powers were like an itch. She _had_ to scratch, had to. If she didn't do something small on purpose every few days, something big would happen by accident. Usually something disastrous. Then she'd have to disappear again, transfer again, _start_ again... She was tired of goodbyes, tired of losing friends, and she wanted to stay at EHU for more than a semester.

So okay, she'd scratch her power itch, and just do really small, really harmless things, and be careful.

She watched the cute boy bend over to pick up his notebook, and smiled. Another long strip of boxer was revealed, as part of an overall very nice view.

So maybe the whole telepathy and telekenesis thing wasn't _all_ bad.

\--

Gabriella had a hard time making friends. It wasn't that she didn't want to, or that she wasn't friendly -- she was great at making friendly acquaintances. But actual _friends_ were different. The better she knew someone, the harder a time Gabriella had keeping her mind to herself; people got confused when they thought they heard her thoughts, and angry if they somehow figured out she could hear theirs.

But at EHU, the problem wasn't even that she was a psychic with a hard time controlling her abilities. By spring semester, junior year, everyone already knew everyone else in their classes; everyone already _had_ friends. No one was exactly on the lookout for a new girl to hang out with. People were friendly enough, but that was it.

Which was why she found herself staring at the audition sign-up board in the theater. There was some show starting soon, written by one of the music department students as her senior thesis. Most of the cast and crew would probably be students from the theater department, looking for additional class credits, but it was also open to non-department student auditions. And Gabriella liked to sing. She'd never been in a show before, but theater people were all friendly and outgoing, right? So maybe if she just auditioned for a small part... Well, it would be an instant group of friends. Or friendly acquaintances, at least, who might _become_ friends. If she could get over her terror of being on stage, with all those people looking at her, and all those thoughts bouncing around in such a small area... The idea that someone might hate her performance and she'd hear about it before she even finished was almost enough to turn her away.

Almost.

She stared at the sign-up sheet for a long minute before she heard the music. It was soft, coming from somewhere down the hall; it was slow and melodic, and really very lovely. But it cut off as suddenly as it had started. Gabriella couldn't help herself; she began to wander down the hall towards where it had come from.

"Well, your _best_ is boring!"

She froze. The shout had come from the same place as the music, but it wasn't too remarkable. Loud and bossy and bratty, yes, but Gabriella would have expected to find a diva or two in the theater. What froze her were the emotions, thicker than any thoughts, that came rolling out of the same area: frustration, anger, despair. She braced herself and tried to close her mind to get them out, because for a few seconds all she wanted to do was lay down and cry. But once she pushed the stranger's feelings away, it passed. She was fine.

But obviously, someone else was not.

"I mean, _god_, how many times have I told you? I don't _do_ downbeat ballads! And this _isn't_ my key!"

This time, Gabriella concentrated and could hear the mumbled response. "But I just thought...."

"Well, don't _think_. Transpose! Once it's in my key, we'll talk about the rest of the problems."

Gabriella only had a second to duck to the side, because a blond girl in heels and a miniskirt came flouncing out of the room, carrying a purse with a small dog poking its head out. She almost ran over Gabriella, but didn't stop for a few more feet. Then she turned, ignored Gabi entirely, and shouted, "Ryan!"

A moment later, a blond guy scrambled out of the same room. He looked a little irritated, though he obviously wasn't the source of the intense emotions Gabriella had felt. But at least he didn't walk into her; he even nodded a little as he walked past. He and the blond girl strode off together, already chattering at a million miles an hour, oblivious to the gloom and doom that hung heavy in the room they'd just left.

Gabriella hesitated, no longer feeling anything unusual. But the music started up again, and it was even prettier now that she could hear it closely. It was a quiet ballad on the piano, soft and sweet, and nothing Gabi had ever heard before. She stepped into the room quietly, watching and listening.

The piano player was small and looked young, with glasses and a hat pulled low, hiding her face. She hunched over her instrument, but Gabriella didn't think she was even reading the music. Especially not when she just kept playing, long after she should have finished the page in front of her.

Finally, Gabriella cleared her throat.

The girl stopped playing and turned towards the door, obviously startled, and just stared at Gabriella.

"Um, hello," Gabriella finally said. "I heard you playing. That's really pretty. What is it?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. Just -- I wrote it for the show, but I guess I'm going to have to redo it."

"But it was so nice. I really liked it," Gabriella said. "My name is Gabriella -- Gabi."

"Kelsi," the pianist said.

"Did you write that?" Gabi asked.

Kelsi nodded.

"I really liked it," Gabi said again. "Is that... Are those lyrics?"

Kelsi nodded again. "Do you want... Here, listen." She began to play something much simpler, and Gabi realized quickly it was the melody line. Kelsi half-hummed the words, and Gabi joined in once she'd gotten the hang of it.

_"It's hard to believe that I couldn't see what was always right beside me. Thought I was alone, with no one to hold, but you were always right beside me..."_

"This is so sweet," Gabi said when she finished, and she sat at the bench next to Kelsi.

Kelsi flushed. "Thanks. I'm glad someone likes it this way."

"Everyone will like this!"

"No one's even going to hear it. Not like this." Kelsi noodled on the piano a little, and began to speak again. "Sharpay asked me to rewrite it before the show. So it's in her key. I mean, I need to make her sound good!"

"But it's _your_ song," Gabi said. "Isn't it your show?"

Kelsi shrugged. "It's sort of... _our_ show. I mean, she's starring in it."

"But auditions haven't even started yet."

Kelsi smiled, though it was more wry than anything else. "You must be new. Sharpay stars in every show. I mean, we're talking about Sharpay _Evans_."

Gabi gave her a blank look.

"As in Vance Evans Student Center, Vance and Derby Evans Athletic Facility, the Evans dorm, and Evans..." She gestured around. "Theater. They paid to have it completely rebuilt when Sharpay and Ryan started here last year."

"So?"

"So they endowed my scholarship. The least I can do to thank them is let Sharpay and Ryan perform in my thesis production." She shrugged as she said it, still smiling a little, but for a moment Gabi felt that heavy feeling of gloom she'd sensed before. Then Kelsi picked out a couple of notes on the piano, and the feeling lightened and vanished.

"Oh." Gabriella frowned. "It's too bad about your song. I think people would like this version a lot."

"Thanks."

"Um..." Gabriella couldn't think of anything else to do, so she finally just shrugged. "Would you like to come get dinner with me? I'm pretty new here, I don't really know many people. Maybe you could tell me some more about your show. I was thinking of auditioning... even if it is already practically cast."

Kelsi laughed, just a little, and said, "I'd like that a lot."

\--

Kelsi was definitely going to be Gabi's first good friend at EHU. Gabi could just tell these things. They got lunch together the next two days, and talked for hours. Kelsi was extremely nice, very easy to get along with... But there was something weird about her, too. She could talk forever about music, and her thesis, and her classes, and she listened attentively when Gabi talked about moving around with her mom, and how tired she was of being new, and how she really just wanted to relax and enjoy being at college, but Kelsi never really talked about herself -- her family, or growing up, or anything like that. And even though she smiled and joked, she always seemed a little bit guarded. Kind of gloomy.

Gabi wondered what all that meant, but she very, very carefully kept her mind within her own skull. She didn't want to pry, she didn't want to find out anything the wrong way. She wasn't going to wreck the friendship that way, she reminded herself after one of their lunches.

She settled herself at the reference desk, pulled out her women's studies textbook, and got to work. But she'd only gotten a few paragraphs in when someone cleared his throat in front of her desk. Gabriella looked up and saw blue eyes.

"Hello," she said, setting aside her textbook. "Can I help you? You... You were looking for superhero stuff a few days ago, right?"

Blue Eyes McShaggyHair looked surprised. But happy-surprised. "You remember me?"

"I guess I do," she admitted, blushing. She remembered most of the students who asked for help, but yes, she'd remembered this one in particular because he was awfully cute. Sort of... harmlessly attractive. The word _dreamy_ came to mind, with all of its cheesy connotations. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean -- I found nothing, so I guess, no superhero lawsuits. But you want to know something kind of weird?"

His eyes seemed to light up when he was enthusiastic. Gabriella nodded.

"I found this, like, superhero encyclopedia. It had basically every hero ever, I think. All this cool stuff. And I realized, like, there used to be all these heroes... Like, El Policía and Windchime and Frappe... And then, like, 20 years ago, they just... _vanished_."

"Weird," she said.

He nodded. "No one seems to know why. So maybe I'll write my paper on that."

"Sounds interesting," Gabi said. "So did you need my help to find anything, or...?"

He flushed, his mind practically screaming _I think your dress is cute_. But what he said was, "Oh, uh, no. I just wanted to, uh, let you know that I found some cool stuff. I mean, I guess, if you like superheroes."

"I think they're kind of cool," she said.

_Stop talking about super heroes stop talking about super heroes stupid talking about_ \-- "Like Captain Bolt?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, he's awesome."

He smiled broadly. "Right? I think so, too. Anyway, uh, I'll... I should work on my paper, so I'll see you around, I guess?"

"Probably," she said. "I mean, I do work here."

"Right," he said, and shouldered his backpack. "So I totally will, then. Cool."

He walked away.

And the carpet was still a little wrinkled from her antics when she'd first met him. And she really _didn't_ mean to, this time, it was just a stray thought... But there it went, shifting under his foot, and he stumbled forward, flailing to catch his balance. He looked around suspiciously, confusedly, and saw her giggle. He blushed, but waved at her and then hurried off into the stacks.

It was a shame that students weren't allowed to check out the reference books. She'd have liked an excuse to find out his name. Because he was _totally_ dreamy.

\--

It was somehow fitting that they were talking about superheroes in her women's studies class the next morning, when the panic started. The class was about representations of female strength, and it was really interesting stuff. This week they were examining the few female superheroes there had been through the years, from the old-fashioned ones from the 50s like Lady Lovely to iconic ones in the 70s and 80s, like Frappe. And Gabi especially liked it because it made her think of the cute boy in the library.

The wave of pure panic hit Gabriella before she heard the screaming. It actually almost knocked her off her chair in the middle of the lecture. The screams came a moment later, and everyone got up and ran outside to see what was going on. Gabriella pushed to the front of the crowd, and... Whoa.

It, whatever it was, was tall and lean and... skeletal. In fact, it _was_ a skeleton, wearing a black robe and clutching a scythe. And it was heading straight towards them, the biggest group of people around. The panic overwhelmed her for a moment, and Gabi shut her eyes and covered her ears, focusing and trying to get everyone else out of her brain. Once she was alone in her head, she could look up again.

There were bodies behind the skeleton. Gabi stared, horrified, but then realized they weren't dead. They were just... lying there. Mostly they were curled up. And when she opened her mind just a tiny bit, she was overwhelmed again, but this time by misery. The people on the ground were hopeless, utterly hopeless, and it didn't matter what the skeleton did because life sucked and nothing ever went right and no one cared and --

She slammed her mind shut and narrowed her eyes at the skeleton. It wasn't killing people. It wasn't even touching them. It just pointed its scythe and then they collapsed, miserable and not caring enough about anything to even stand up and run away.

People were running everywhere, shrieking and panicking. But --

"Hey! Hey, _Grim_! _Over here_!"

Gabi, the skeleton, and everyone else craned their necks to see, and relief washed over the crowd immediately. Gabi could _feel_ it. Because there, fists on his hips, was Captain Bolt. He had his usual playful grin as he stared down the skeleton.

Its horrible skull shifted a little. It was smiling back at him.

Captain Bolt glanced around and dodged for cover behind a tree -- no, Gabi realized. He didn't hide behind it. He grabbed the tree by the trunk and hoisted, yanking it out from the roots. Her eyes widened. She knew he was strong, but _wow_. Seeing it in real life...

He swung the tree with surprisingly ease, given how massive the tree was. But the skeleton was fast, too. It raised its scythe and swung, timing it perfectly. The scythe came down through the tree branches, slicing them all off. Not a single branch touched the skeleton. Captain Bolt gaped for a second, but recovered quickly. He pulled the tree back and _hurled_ it, throwing the trunk at the skeleton instead.

But the skeleton didn't hesitate, either. It raised its scythe and gestured, and just like that the tree trunk veered off course. It didn't slow down, just changed directions, now heading straight for the crowd where Gabriella stood.

She gasped, and it was more instinct than anything else. She raised her arms above her head and mentally ordered the tree to _stop_. And it did, just hanging there in the air. She was as surprised as anyone else, and as she lowered it gently, she heard the scream. It sounded like someone in agony, but she didn't dare look up and risk breaking her concentration until the trunk was settled safely on the ground.

But by then it was too late. The skeleton's grin was a bit wider and scarier, and the skeleton itself looked a bit bigger. Captain Bolt had fallen to his knees, head buried in his hands. Gabriella didn't need to reach out with her mind to feel his despair. And there was no time to, anyway. Because the skeleton turned towards the crowd. It raised its scythe, and for one moment Gabi felt the hopelessness, the feeling of uselessness and futility and _why bother fighting?_-ness, but only for a second. She shut her mind, and no one else's panic could reach her, and neither could the skeleton's powers.

She glanced at Captain Bolt, who was now sobbing behind his cowl, and she glared at the skeleton. And she didn't even know _how_ she did it, she just took all of the anger and fear she felt, and shoved it right back at the skeleton, pushing her way into its mind.

But its mind was... not really a mind. Not the way she'd come to recognize them, a bright piece of personality with stray thoughts drifting off of it like loose threads on a cheap t-shirt. Instead, she heard it like music -- an eerie melody, a child's song played in a minor key, created by misery and resentment. The Grim Reaper wanted happiness, it _needed_ happiness, so it just _took_ it. The more positivity it stole, the bigger and stronger it got, but there would never be enough. It would never be happy, content; it never _could_ be. So it would keep taking, and growing, and leaving hopeless, agonized innocents in its wake.

No. Way.

It recoiled from the anger she'd blasted at it, and, sensing weakness, she did it again. And again.

The skeleton didn't shrink. It just _evaporated_, robes, scythe, and all. And that must have helped its victims, because she could feel some of the despair around her lessen. Some, but definitely not all. And not Captain Bolt. He didn't move.

She ran over to him before she could stop and think it through. She shook his shoulder and he looked up at her, blue eyes haunted and, yes, teary.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"All those people," he said, his voice distant. "All those people..."

And with that, he passed out, collapsing on her sandals.

\--

He screamed.

Gabi gasped, feeling Captain Bolt's panic, even as she realized he was still asleep. She'd dragged him away, trying to use her power to make him lighter -- sort of floating him, but not far enough off the ground for anyone to notice -- and everyone had been too miserable to look, let alone stop her. Now they were on the roof of the agricultural science and geology building -- there was a sprawling roof garden and even a bench, but it was way out on the edge of campus and almost no one went there. She'd only found out about it by accident. Using her powers, getting both of them up on to the roof had been easy enough.

Gabi shook Captain Bolt to wake him, and his eyes flew open. He grabbed her and shoved her away, so hard she almost flew across the pebbly rooftop, and when she fell she lost her breath and it hurt like crazy.

"Oh my god!" he yelled, then stared at her as she stood. _Tried_ to stand. She was pretty sure he'd sprained her ankle. "I didn't mean to -- oh my god -- are you okay? Oh, no..."

He started to sob, shoulders shaking, and didn't even look up at her again. She limped towards him, wincing every time she had to put weight on her right foot, but made it to where he was slumped.

She knelt in front of him. "I'm okay," she said, which was a lie, but only a little one. "I _am_. Are you?"

He shook his head. "All those people..."

"What people?" she asked.

He looked up at her, haunted. "They could have _died_. I was aiming at the Grim Reaper, but what if I'd hit them and they'd all died? It's all my fault. It's..."

"But they _didn't_," she said, and when he didn't look up, she grabbed his shoulder. "They didn't. Everyone was okay." Sad, but okay.

"But... But they could've... It would be my fault, and... I hurt you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I -- "

"I'm. Fine." She sighed and moved to sit next to him.

"Who are you? Where are we? How did I get here?" More panic behind his cowl.

"I'm, um..." No point in hiding it from him, since it wasn't like she had a mask on or anything. "My name is Gabriella. We're on a rooftop. I didn't know where else to bring you."

"I'm such a failure," he said quietly. And he looked away again. "I hurt you, and I failed everyone. I can't even catch stupid _robbers_, let alone stop a monster like that! I'm so useless."

She started to answer, but stopped. He sounded so upset, so completely hopeless... It wasn't because he'd failed. And it had seemed like he'd been getting better for a few seconds, but then he'd crumpled again. She gasped, realizing that whatever the Grim Reaper had done to him, it was still affecting him. And maybe he _was_ fighting against it, trying to battle back the despair. But he seemed to be losing, because he started sobbing again.

She reached for his hand. "It's okay," she murmured to him, but instead of just holding her hand back, he curled up against her, head on her shoulder. So, okay... She put an arm around him and asked, "Trust me. Can you do that?"

He nodded and sniffled.

"Good." That was all she'd been waiting for. She never pushed her way into people's minds on purpose; she was always careful _not_ to. But if he trusted her, she thought she could help. She had to try. So she held him, and let her mind sink into his.

There was the despair. It swirled around her, dark and horrible, and it kept shoving images into her mind. Things that had never happened: people crushed by a tree he'd thrown, people severed by the Grim Reaper's scythe, a cute girl he accidentally killed by throwing her across the room when she tried to help him. And the nightmare: electrodes, labcoats, and pain. A voice like nails on a chalkboard saying, _"More, give him more..."_

Whoa.

But once she'd broken past all that, the horror and misery conjured up by the Reaper, there were good things. Like... basketball, playing one-on-one with a friend because he couldn't be on the team. An old rustbucket of a truck, and all the fun he had fixing it. And the cute girl at the library.

The...

Oh. _Oh_. Gabi felt herself flood with warmth, realizing who he was, even if she didn't know his name. He _liked_ her. He thought she was cute and smart and he'd wanted to ask her out, but hadn't known what to say, so he'd babbled like a dork.

So she let him see what she'd seen looking at him: someone cute and friendly, who she remembered and wanted to talk to some more. Someone interesting, someone she wanted to get to know, someone she thought about even outside of the library, like she had in class.

And that did it. She could feel the moment he broke free from the Reaper's hold, when the despair dissolved.

He stared at her.

She stared back.

"You know who I am?" he asked, then, "You're a freaking _telepath_?"

"I didn't mean to," she said. "I wasn't trying to find out who you were! I was just looking for something happy and recognized your, uh, memory. Of, um, me."

"This is embarrassing," he said, then, "My name is Troy."

"Um, sorry about tripping you. Both times."

He laughed, and she liked the sound of it. "No biggie," he said. "And I really _am_ sorry about your ankle. I didn't mean to... I didn't know who you were, and those nightmares are freaking terrible, you know?" He paused. "_Do_ you know? Do you get them? Because I've never met anyone else with superpowers, so..."

She shook her head.

"Oh." He paused. "So... uh, telepathy, huh?"

"And telekinesis," she confirmed. "But I'm always careful, I try not to read people's minds or anything! I would never invade someone's privacy on purpose. I just _had_ to, I had to help you."

"It's okay," he said. "I'm glad you did, because I've just got this feeling... If that Grim Reaper thing was still affecting me, and everyone else still felt sad after it was gone... then maybe it isn't gone for good. And... maybe you can help me if it ever comes back. You'd look cute in a mask."

He smiled at her, and her heart skipped a beat. Darn, but he _was_ dreamy.

\--

Gabi wasn't sure if Troy had been kidding about the mask comment, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like it might solve all of her problems. She _had_ to use her powers sometimes, or they'd explode on her, and the more she used them, the more she learned how to control them. Until she'd tried to sink into someone's mind, she hadn't known she _could_. And if she could do that, who knew what else she was capable of? Wearing a mask, having a secret identity, that would let her use her powers. Develop them. Practice made perfect, and she had great study habits anyway.

And the heroes they'd talked about in class were _so_ inspiring. She wanted to be like Frappe or Windchime, the sort of women little girls dressed up as for Halloween. She'd already saved Captain Bolt -- Troy -- once. And she could help him again, or strike out on her own. Heck, _Troy_ managed, and while Gabi wasn't invulnerable or anything, she was pretty sure she was a _little_ smarter than he was.

So she did it. She wandered the mall and second-hand stores and the cute shops on Duke City's main drag, and by the time she was finished, she had put together what she hoped was an adorable and effective costume: a pink and white sundress with short sleeves so they wouldn't get in the way, white tights and gloves, a pair of cute pink flats, and a pink domino mask. And, because it was too cute to resist, a thick white belt with a strawberry on the buckle.

It was four days before she had a chance to use them. This time, the screaming came first, because Gabi had been more careful about blocking out the people around her.

People flooded into the library to take cover, running and jostling and completely wrecking the place. But she had no time to worry about that. She grabbed the costume from her bag, changed in a dark corner in the stacks, and ran outside.

The wave of misery was strong enough to break through her mental blockades. Gabi froze, suddenly terrified and overwhelmed, but shook it off and looked out at the sea of people around her. The Grim Reaper stood in the middle of the quad. The people who'd been caught outside were now useless, lying on the ground, some of them crying while others just curled up, too depressed to move. The Reaper was bigger now, at least ten feet tall, but still deathly thin. She could hear that same melody again, drifting through the open lawn in front of the library, and she felt emotions swirling so thick they were almost visible.

A rock exploded off the side of the Reaper's skull. She and the skeleton both turned to see where it had come from. Captain Bolt -- and this time he was running instead of standing and posing, stooping to pick up rocks and hurl them. His aim was accurate, and the Reaper had to dodge them, knocking them aside with its scythe. Gabi smiled, thinking maybe she'd have to give Captain Bolt a little more credit. He made plenty of mistakes, but he rarely made the same one twice, and it looked like the Reaper couldn't go on the offensive if it was too busy trying to protect itself.

Gabriella used the time to scan the crowd, trying to see if there was anything else she could do, anything else unusual. And there it was -- somewhere in the back, hidden behind the stairs into one of the buildings, a small, whirling vortex of emotions: despair, of course, but even more guilt. And that vortex -- _that_, and not the Reaper itself -- was the source of the music. She ran towards it, her ankle still a little sore, but didn't make it all the way. The Reaper noticed the movement and turned towards her, even as it knocked aside another missile from Captain Bolt. It grinned on her and twirled its scythe --

Images exploded in her mind, horrible things. Friends found out about her secret and turned on her -- it had happened before, it would happen again, wouldn't it? She thought she'd have a fresh start at EHU, but she'd already screwed up too often, and it was just a matter of time. She'd have to drop everything and leave yet again, she'd never get the chance to make a _real_ friend, she'd never get up the courage to go on a date with Troy, and he wouldn't want her to anyway because she was a stupid, useless freak who couldn't even --

_"Hey! Hey, leave her alone!"_

The shout cut through the emotions that had overtaken her mind. She looked up -- when had she fallen? -- and saw Captain Bolt rushing at the reaper. It raised its scythe, but he kept going. The blade crashed into him and even though Gabi could see the moment misery overtook him, he didn't stop. The actual physical blade bounced off of him harmlessly, and it must have startled the Reaper, because the horrible thing lost its grip.

The scythe didn't fall far. Bolt and the Reaper both reached for it, but Gabriella was quicker. She held out her hands and the scythe flew towards her. Clutching it desperately, she stumbled to her feet. The Reaper ran at her, and Captain Bolt followed but tripped, still distracted by whatever horrors the thing had put in his skull.

Just holding the scythe made the images in her mind worse. Captain Bolt had tackled the Reaper for _her_, he could have been killed. He still might be, who did she think she was, trying to stop a monster? She didn't know what she was doing, and when he died it would be all her fault. She couldn't live with that, she should just give up and...

And...

She swung the scythe and caught the Reaper with his own blade. She severed one of its arms -- arm _bones_ \-- and it shrieked, a horrible high-pitched scream escaping from its skull. She swung again, twisting the blade, and this time lifted the damn skull from the spine. It didn't just go flying: the whole thing exploded into a shower of bright green and purple, all of the stolen emotions rushing away from it. The scythe disappeared from Gabriella's hand and she was left just staring. Not even the Grim Reaper's robe remained. The whole thing was gone, as if it had never existed at all.

"Wow," Captain Bolt said, picking himself up. "That was exciting."

"Not quite the word I'd use," Gabi mumbled, and looked around to see if the strange mini-vortex was still there. It was, but fading quickly. She turned to try and track it down, but someone shouted, "Hey, hey! Over here!"

She and Captain Bolt both turned to see who was yelling. A student rushed forward, brandishing a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. She came to a halt in front of them and said, "Hi, sorry about that. I'm Martha Cox, with the _EHU Examiner_. I cover the superhero beat."

"We're a beat now?" Captain Bolt asked.

"You will be if I get another few stories!" she said. "Like this one -- a new terror, and a new hero. So what's _your_ name?"

The last part had been at Gabriella, who hadn't actually thought that far. She was too distracted, trying to find the source of the minor-key melody, but the vortex was now gone entirely. The emotions from it felt so familiar, somehow...

Captain Bolt cleared his throat, and Gabriella turned her attention to the reporter.

"Uh, my name," she said. "Right. It's..." She opened her mind and let the words flow in, telepathically listening to what people thought as they stared at her. _Cute girl. Powerful. Sensible shoes. Strawberry._

"Strawberry!" she said. But it didn't feel like enough. Strawberries were delicious, they were seedy, they were very sweet -- "Sugar," she finished decisively. Because they were sweet, and it rolled off her tongue, and she liked alliteration.

"Strawberry Sugar," Martha repeated. "Okay..."

Captain Bolt chimed in. "You see, Ms. Cox, she is sugar and spice and everything nice." He grinned.

Gabi rolled her eyes the _tiniest_ bit, but smiled. He was kind of ridiculous, but he obviously meant very well.

Martha did not look terribly impressed, though. She ignored him and continued, "Can I ask a few questions? People really want to know what -- "

"I, uh, think we'd better be off," Gabriella interrupted. She was pretty sure superheroes didn't really give interviews. "But it was nice chatting with you!"

She looked around for an exit, but now that students were coming back to their senses, there wasn't really anywhere to slip out. Especially not with Martha now snapping pictures. So, okay... She'd improvise. She grabbed Captain Bolt's hand, reached out with her mind, and picked them up. They floated gently as she could over the roof of the library, and when she was certain they were out of sight, she set them down.

"You can _fly_?" he asked, obviously startled.

She shrugged. "It's just the telekinesis. I used my mind to move us."

"Oh, cool. That must be nice. I can do cool entrances, but exits are always hard."

She giggled, but sobered up when she remembered one of the horrible visions she'd had when the Reaper had gotten to her. That she'd never make any friends... And she'd never work up the courage to go out with Troy. And obviously he was kind of awkward about the whole thing. She _knew_ that; she'd seen it in his mind.

So she said, "So... um, _Captain_? I was just thinking... Um. Would you like to maybe go out some time?"

"Like, to fight crime together? That would be really cool!"

She giggled again. "I actually meant out of costume."

"Out of..." He blushed, but then got it. "_Oh!_ Like... to dinner. I mean, would you like to go to dinner?"

"Yeah," she agreed.

"How's tonight?" he asked.

"How about tomorrow? I have work until late," she said. Which was true. But it wasn't the _whole_ truth. Because even with the Reaper gone -- hopefully for good this time -- there was still something out there. Someone. Someone connected to the Reaper, someone very unhappy, someone tied to that _music_...

\--

Gabriella, once again in costume, floated up to Kelsi's window, four stories up. The light was on, casting Kelsi's shadow against the shade, showing that she was playing a keyboard, wearing headphones. Gabriella steeled herself, not sure if this was a good idea, and pushed the window open.

Kelsi jumped at the rush of air, and then outright _stared_. Gabi floated in and landed gracefully. But after a second she gestured towards her ear. Kelsi almost fell out of her seat as she ripped the headphones off.

"Hello," Gabi said. "I think I need to talk to you."

And Kelsi's face just _fell_, guilt radiating off of her. "I don't know what you mean," she said, her voice barely a murmur.

"Do you mind if I sit?" Gabi asked. She wasn't quite sure how to handle this, but she figured being nice was the best way to go. Especially because Kelsi didn't _seem_ dangerous. She was just... sad. When she nodded, Gabi sat lightly on the bed, leaning forward. "Was that... Did you make that... Grim Reaper?"

Kelsi was silent for a long moment, then shook her head.

Gabi fished mentally, picking up stray thoughts. "But you recognized it? It was... an accident?"

"I tried to stop it! I tried, but it's so _big_ and I don't know how! I thought I could control it, but it was too much and I... It's all my fault."

"Here." Gabi patted the bed next to her. "Sit with me. Tell me all about it. It'll be okay, I promise."

Kelsi blushed as she moved across the room. She sat, but turned away when she began to speak. "I don't... It's... It felt familiar, but I don't know _how_... But I heard this music. I always hear music."

"What do you mean?" Gabi asked.

Kelsi shrugged. "I almost went deaf when I was seven. It's a genetic condition, there was nothing that could stop it. Or so my parents thought. But they found out about this experiment, this surgery that could help..."

"It went wrong?" Gabi guessed.

"Nooo... It went perfectly. Almost. They used an electric stimulus on my auditory nerve, up near my brain. It was supposed to make it more sensitive, save what hearing I had left. And it did! But they... they screwed something up. They brushed the stimulus over my brain. Just for a second. It didn't do any harm."

"They thought."

"They thought," Kelsi confirmed.

"What happened after that?"

"I began to hear music all the time." She bit her lip, hesitated, and finally continued, "When I got angry, or upset, or... or even happy, really, other people heard it, too. And..." She choked.

But Gabi could practically see the memories, they were so strong. At first, it had just been odd; her parents had been worried, but it had seemed harmless. But then the music had gotten stronger and stronger, and when Kelsi felt sad it made people cry, and when she felt angry it made people _hurt_. As much as her parents loved her, they couldn't handle it -- couldn't handle _her_. The night they'd told her they were sending her away to a school -- a special school, one that could help her, they said -- she'd been _so_ upset...

Her mother hadn't ever really recovered. It had taken weeks before she'd been able to get out of bed. And they never told Kelsi, but she knew there were days when her mother regressed, when she just lay there and cried and cried, unable to bring herself to get up, to shower, to make breakfast. And it was all Kelsi's fault.

"You don't have to say. I can see it. And I'm so sorry," Gabriella murmured, and put a hand on Kelsi's shoulder.

Kelsi just shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. She even managed a half-smile. But the guilt hung thick around her, somewhere within her. _Deep_ within her.

"What did they teach you at that school?" Gabi asked.

"To control myself." She took a breath. "They were careful with me. They kept me doped up, like on cough syrup times a million, so I wouldn't be able to hurt anyone. They _had_ to." And behind the calm words, a flicker of anger, buried somewhere even deeper than the guilt. "And then they taught me how to calm down, and act normal, and not feel... feel too happy or sad or... I learned to play piano. Music helped me a lot. It keeps me grounded, so everything is fine."

But it _wasn't_ fine.

"And now I'm okay. I haven't hurt anyone in years. I can control myself. I can."

"But..." Gabi took a deep breath. "The Reaper -- what _was_ it? You _did_ know it."

"I don't know! It felt like -- it felt like -- I don't _know_!" Kelsi began to cry, and Gabi _felt_ her frustration. Because Kelsi knew that the Reaper was hers, somehow, that it was her responsibility, but she didn't know how, couldn't _fix_ it, couldn't --

It was like an emotional dam burst. Kelsi burst into tears, and sadness/frustration/anger/guilt poured out, overwhelming Gabi until she managed to shut her mind. She sorted through the images and emotions, tried to put it all together while Kelsi wept, and gasped when she figured it out.

"Kelsi," she said. She shook Kelsi's shoulder, and Kelsi stared at her, eyes bright and watery. "I need to... to explain what happened to you. It won't be easy for you to hear, I know that. But it might be easier coming from a... a friend."

"What do you mean?" Kelsi asked.

Gabi hesitated, then reached up and pulled her mask off. Kelsi's eyes went even wider. "You..." she murmured.

"Me," Gabi said. "It's me. I _trust_ you, okay? I want you to know that I trust you, and that I -- I like you, and I want to be your friend, and I want to help you. No matter what. Do you understand that?"

Kelsi nodded.

"Okay." Gabi took a deep breath, and took Kelsi's hands in hers, hoping that the physical contact might help keep Kelsi calm. "The Reaper... You didn't do it on purpose. But it does come from you. From all of those bad feelings, when you're angry or sad -- "

"No!" Kelsi interrupted. "No, I _don't_ \-- I don't hurt people, I wouldn't -- "

Gabi could hear the haunting melody very faintly. "Please!" she said. "Just listen! Of course you don't hurt people. You never would, not on purpose. And you didn't hurt your mother on _purpose_, either. You couldn't help what happened. It _wasn't your fault_. But -- but all those emotions you repress, everything you won't let yourself feel so you _don't_ hurt anyone... they all built up inside you, and when you wouldn't acknowledge them, they spilled out. They became the Reaper."

Kelsi gasped, and then sobbed, curing up. Gabi let her, wrapped her arms around Kelsi, and held her. She felt Kelsi's guilt and her terror, and she heard the melody, soft and sad, and it made her want to give up, give in...

She shut her mind, blocked out Kelsi's thoughts and emotions, and the music went, too. Which meant she could hold Kelsi until she cried herself out, and she realized she was probably the first person who _had_ done that. The first person who could have.

When Kelsi finally recovered a little, Gabi said cautiously, "We need to find a way to help you get control. _Real_ control."

"How?" Kelsi asked, her voice utterly wrecked. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose, then grabbed another and wiped her eyes. "I don't want... I don't want to hurt anyone, but I..."

"You just need some help, that's all," Gabi said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Everyone who tries to help me gets hurt," Kelsi said.

"_I_ won't," Gabi said. "You can't hurt me. I promise."

"I almost killed you!"

"But you didn't _mean_ to. And you won't. I know that. I have faith in you." She made herself smile. "I can... I can be your sounding board, when you need it. I know you keep yourself controlled all the time, but with me you can let go. And get angry. And sad. And no one will get hurt."

"Why would you want to... to risk all that?" Kelsi asked. For a change, there was nothing masking her voice. The suspicion and fear were all right there at the surface.

"Because you're my friend," Gabi said firmly.

"I don't _have_ any friends," Kelsi said. "Anyone I try to be friends with..." _Gets hurt_, she didn't say.

Gabi ignored the thought on the tip of Kelsi's tongue, and said blithely, "My powers make it really hard to make friends. And keep them. At my last college, someone startled me, and I accidentally knocked every single book in the library off the shelves."

"Really?"

Gabi nodded. "It was awful. The library was in chaos for _weeks_. And one of the other students... She'd always been suspicious of me." Of course she had. Gabi had known too much about her; she'd let that slip when she was trying to be friendly. "She figured out that it was me. She couldn't prove it, but after that almost no one would talk to me, and then..." And then she'd found out about her best friend, and after she'd told the boyfriend everything, no one would talk to her at _all_. "It was all too much. I had to transfer."

"But you're so _nice_!"

"And so are you," Gabi said. "And that's why I want to be your friend."

\--

Gabi walked into the auditions nervously. She watched the stage as she walked over towards the piano, where Kelsi sat, looking depressed. On the stage, Sharpay and Ryan Evans were dancing to an upbeat variation of the song Kelsi had played for Gabriella the day they'd met; it was being played over speakers, leaving Kelsi with nothing to do. The Evans' version was nice, cute and perky, but it didn't have the same _heart_.

"Hey," Gabi said.

Kelsi gasped in surprise. "Gabi! I didn't know you were going to audition! I... I mean, Sharpay..."

"Has it locked up, I know," Gabi said. "But I thought I'd stop by and see if you needed any help, anyway. I'm sure I could pull curtains or something. And..." She cast a glance up at the stage, and made a face. "It sounds like you might need some back up."

"Trust me, you don't want to get involved with that," Kelsi said.

"I don't mind," Gabi said. "I can hold my own... And that's what friends are for, right?"

Gabi could feel the rush of surprise and joy and... longing?... from Kelsi, but she closed her mind, not wanting to invade any further.

"I guess it is," Kelsi said finally. She blushed, and turned away to face the stage, where the Evans twins were now doing choreography that seemed kind of inappropriate, considering that they were closely related. Gabriella settled into one of the chairs nearby and smiled a little.

She'd made her first friend, she'd planned her first date, and she'd fought her first supervillain in less than a week. And there were still almost four months of the semester left.

Transferring to EHU had definitely been the start of something new.


	4. Go and +ayl0r

The last time Chad ever kissed Taylor, she'd been rushing out the door.

"You going to be late tonight?" Chad had asked, resting a hand on her hip. They fit together like that, totally comfortable. They were both twenty-two, and had been living together more than half a year; Chad figured that he'd somehow lucked into finding domestic bliss young, and he wasn't going to squander it. He'd bought the ring the week they moved into their apartment.

The last time Chad ever kissed Taylor, he'd been planning to finally pop the question that night.

"No way," she said. "It's just some game company -- VR stuff, pretty cool, but please. Their security will be _pathetic_. This is going to be cake."

"Great," he said. "Give me a call before you head back. I'm making a sort-of special dinner, I might need you to pick up something."

"Like you couldn't go to the store and get back lightning-quick," she laughed.

He kissed her again. "Check-out lines slow down everyone. Even those of us who are... speedy."

"Well, Speedy," she said, "I'll call."

"See you tonight," he murmured against her cheek, and kissed her.

She kissed back, and sauntered out. She waved over her shoulder before she was out of sight, since Chad usually watched her walk away. He enjoyed the view.

Chad never saw her again.

Not like that, anyway.

\--

The phone call came from her mother, who was already at the hospital. Something had happened. Chad needed to get there as soon as possible.

When he arrived, he knew -- just _knew_, with a single glance -- that she was never going to wake up. She'd arrived at VR Experience's office, and had a seizure in the elevator before she'd even had a chance to get started. She'd collapsed, and hadn't woken up. The EMTs had been able to get her breathing again, and had saved her life, but she hadn't regained consciousness.

So there she was, lying in a hospital bed. Her body was essentially fine, but her mind -- her amazing mind, the mind that had finished a masters of computer science before she turned 20, that had made her a fortune as a computer security specialist -- was gone. She was braindead, the doctors said, with next to no chance of recovery. A vegetable. Her parents were doing what they considered the merciful thing, unplugging her; Taylor McKessie _was_ her mind, and what was the point of keeping around a body without that? They had just wanted to give Chad one last chance to see her.

They left him alone with her, in a room kept dim because that made it easier to pretend she was just sleeping.

He knelt next to her bed.

He whispered, "I love you."

He slid the ring he'd never have the chance to give her onto her finger, and held her hand for a long time.

Then he stood up, walked out, shut the door behind him. He left the hospital.

And he _ran_.

\--

When Chad was a kid, his uncle had worked at a junkyard. Chad _loved_ to visit him there, and since his mom had to work afternoons, she let Chad's uncle babysit for him. It was like the coolest playground ever, and his uncle let him explore, as long as he was careful, and stayed in the areas that were safe.

_Allegedly_ safe.

In fact, it turned out, back in the 50s, before anyone really knew anything about nuclear power, some waste canisters had been dumped and forgotten about. Chad had seen them while wandering a path through piles of old, electronic junk, and investigated. He hadn't had any idea what he'd found. Not until he'd gotten sick.

The sickness started that night, and came on fast. He spent two months in the hospital. No one knew what was wrong; some kind of cancer, the doctors thought, but not like anything they'd seen before. The cells reproduced frighteningly quickly, and it was only a matter of time before it spread.

Within weeks, his lungs, his brain, and his heart were all infected. His parents spent every moment they could with him, knowing that he might die at any second. They waited for his organs to fail. But it didn't happen.

Instead, he got better. Inexplicably, the cancer merged with his body. The tumor dissolved, but its influences stayed. Every single cell in Chad's body was changed, somehow, subtly, in its DNA. Chad got better, and never got sick again. At all.

And he found out that he could run.

He'd always been an athletic kid. The month after he recovered, he broke a county record with the track team. Then a state record. He would have done more, but he'd stopped just running and started... _blurring_. That was the only way to describe it. He wasn't just running fast, he was running _freakishly_ fast. So fast eyes couldn't keep up with him. So fast that he looked like a blur, when people could see him at all.

It was too much, too weird. His parents convinced him to stop, in case people started taking the wrong kind of notice. There were rumors, they said -- government programs always on the look out for strange things, exceptional people. Programs that would take a kid away from his parents, and he'd never be seen again.

Chad didn't think that was true, but it scared him anyway. After that, he never ran on a track team again, only played sports for fun. Even as a competitive teenager, when he'd desperately wanted to show off to the world, he'd been careful.

Every few months, though, he would head out at night and run, with his father -- and, after they fell in love, Taylor -- timing him. Lack of practice didn't slow him down any. Chad could run as far as he wanted, as long as he wanted, and he'd never found a limit, never gotten tired. Not once.

\--

After Chad said goodbye to Taylor, he _ran_. He ran as fast as he could, out of the city, and then down the side of the highway. He raced traffic, outpaced even the fastest cars, not caring if anyone saw him -- by the time anyone could notice him, he was already gone. He passed the state line, and the next state. He paid no attention to where he was, had no idea where he was going, but he just couldn't stand the thought of going home, or staying still.

He ran until he got hungry, but didn't stop. He reached the west coast and turned around, headed east. He broke a sweat as he reached the Atlantic. But he just turned around, ran west.

East.

West.

He finally found a limit after twenty-four hours, when his body started aching like it hadn't since... ever, really. He limped to his parents' house, collapsed in his childhood bedroom, and passed out.

They woke him for the funeral. He felt entirely recharged; his body -- his freak body, transformed by god only knew what, back when he was just a stupid kid -- had healed itself of aches and pains. He was starving, though, and ate an enormous meal. Then he changed into a somber black suit, and went to the funeral. He held Taylor's mom, and let Taylor's father hold him. He even let his best friend Troy give him a hug. He stood stoically through the ceremony, and saw that they hadn't taken the ring from her hand. But no one asked him about it.

He left flowers on her grave, shed the suit jacket, changed back into his sneakers, and took off again. It was a Monday, and he should have gone to class; he was a senior, after all, only months from graduating. He should have gone to work, but didn't even bother to call in. He just didn't care.

He ran as fast as he could, let the rhythm of his feet on the ground overtake his mind. No thoughts, no emotions, no pain -- just speed. This time, he didn't turn around at the coast, just blurred past it. Over the water. There was probably some obscure physics reason for why he didn't sink, but maybe he was just moving too fast.

This time, it took two days to run himself out. At dawn on Wednesday, he staggered in to their apartment -- his alone, now -- and slept on his side of the bed.

He woke to someone pounding on the door.

\--

"My name is Martha Cox. I'm with the _Examiner_. Are you Chad Danforth?"

He nodded, then said, "Look, uh, I'm really... I'm kind of dealing with -- "

"I know. I was friends with Taylor. I'm so sorry." She took a deep breath. "That's why I need to talk to you. I have reason to think that... look... can I come inside?"

"Reason to think what?" Chad asked.

"Taylor had never had a seizure before," Martha said. "And in the last year, three other grad students have died while working on some kind of computer game."

"What? You think... Okay, come in," he said, and stood aside. "I was just... making breakfast."

"It's four in the afternoon," she said.

He shrugged, walked into the kitchen, and let her follow. He didn't really care what time it was; he was starving. Probably a side effect of running like he had. And even as Martha began to talk again, all he could think was that he needed to get out and get running again.

"Look, I know this sounds... far fetched. But last fall, I investigated that DARBUS thing that blew up the computer science building. My main source was this guy named Chris -- he was a friend of Taylor's, too. And two months ago, he died of a heart attack. He was twenty-three years old, and he went to the gym three days a week -- he said it helped him think better. We'd..." She flushed. "We'd gone out together a few times, not long before he died. He mentioned a job he was working on, doing testing for a virtual reality game company."

"Taylor was working for a VR company when she died," Chad said.

"VR Experience?" Martha asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"That was what I wanted to ask," Martha said. "Do you know what, exactly, she... did?"

"Security stuff," Chad said. "She freelanced all the time, helping companies find holes in their security, explaining how attacks could get in."

"A professional hacker," Martha translated.

"Well, uh..." Chad shrugged. She'd never said as much, and he'd never asked, but he'd always assumed so. "Yeah."

"And Chris was working on testing the game. He said it was really intense -- because the VR stuff really screws with your actual _brain_. He said it sounded dangerous... And then he died. Of a _heart attack_. It seemed weird to me, but it wasn't until Taylor died that I started asking around and found the other two."

"Other two?"

"Last year, two grad students -- design students -- were doing freelance development stuff for a VR project. They died together in a car crash."

"Was it the same company?" Chad asked.

"I can't be sure. I only found out at all because one of them had a blog, and it's still online."

"Creepy."

"Yeah. But I had a hunch, so I checked it out. That was all it said, just some company doing development on VR stuff. But that's four dead freelancers in a year. And I _don't_ believe in coincidences."

Chad sat abruptly, abandoning the bowl of pancake batter. The world seemed to shrink, rushing away from him. He could hear his own heartbeat, feel the blood in his veins.

"You think they were murdered."

\--

Taylor woke up.

Sort of.

It wasn't a question of asleep/awake, but her consciousness turned on. She tried to open her eyes and stretch.

Nothing happened.

Realization crashed down: she could see nothing, hear nothing, _feel_ nothing. Her senses were _dead_. It didn't even feel like floating in a void, because she couldn't feel herself floating. She couldn't feel her own body at all.

And then, slowly, she began to _sense_. It was like nothing she'd experienced before; humans only have five senses, and this was something else entirely. This was data, purified. She could process it, follow it. It was more like stretching than reading; more like solving a math problem than like seeing. But it was something.

So she followed it, let the data wash over her, processed and contemplated and figured out what had happened.

And _then_ she panicked.

Taylor had no body; she was nothing but a consciousness. And, she was pretty sure, that consciousness existed solely on VR Experience's server.

If she'd had a throat, she'd have screamed.

\--

Chad paced. It actually took effort to do it at a normal speed.

"Right now, everything we know is circumstantial... Just a coincidence," Martha said. "I mean, I have no proof. The car crash was almost a year ago, and I've already looked at all the public records of it. There was nothing suspicious there. And Chris..." She choked a little. "Everyone said it was such a tragedy. So unexpected. But no one found anything unusual when they examined him -- it was weird that it had happened, but there was no reason to think it was anything _but_ a heart attack, either. Taylor, same thing, right?"

Chad nodded. "She had just gotten there. She was in an elevator and she just... had a seizure."

Martha pursed her lips, then said, "If I was going to do something suspicious, I'd do it there. In an elevator. If she's alone, you've got no witnesses. And there'd be just the one security tape, and that would be easily enough to fake, or conveniently lose. _If_ the police even thought to ask about it, because if there was nothing suspicious, just a tragedy, why bother?"

Chad snapped his fingers. "And the timing seems weird to me. I mean, I know when she left. And even if she was stuck in traffic or something, it was a couple of _hours_ later when her mom called me from the hospital. If she'd gotten there and collapsed almost immediately..."

"Right," Martha realized. "So maybe she got there and got to work. She did something, or saw something, and _then_ they..."

"So we need proof that they covered it up. How do we get it?"

Martha shrugged. "Um, we'd need a reliable witness, but we probably won't find anyone willing to talk. Or we'd need the security tape from the elevator, if we could get to it. Or even just access to their internal server... I already looked into the company as much as I could. You want to know something weird? They're so freaked out about getting hacked, getting their game stolen or something, that they don't even have real internet access. Just an internal intranet that houses _everything_, but nothing external."

"Then why would they hire Taylor?" Chad asked.

"That... is a really good question," Martha agreed. "Why hire a hacker specialist if you physically _can't_ be hacked? Have you ever considered investigative journalism, Chad?"

Just a few days ago, before Taylor had died, he'd have chuckled. Now, though... he hadn't smiled since he'd gotten the phone call from Taylor's mom. He hadn't gone to class, or even thought about it. He had a bunch of messages from his friends and family, but he hadn't even listened to them. Hadn't thought about them.

It was like his life had stopped, too, because he didn't _care_. Not about anything. All he wanted was to be numb.

But if she'd been _murdered_...

He remembered a conversation he and his best friend Troy had had months ago. Troy had asked him some stupid question about what he'd do to protect Taylor, what he'd do if he had some sort of special power. Chad had freaked, afraid Troy knew about his superspeed, but it had just been Troy being weird. But Chad had told the truth. He couldn't stand the idea of doing nothing when Taylor needed him.

It was too late to help her. But he couldn't just sit still and do _nothing_.

"If I could get you that security tape, what would you do?" Chad asked.

Martha raised her eyebrows. "I'd make it public. Write a story. Obviously, I'd do whatever I needed to do to keep my source anonymous... But even if we could prove that she didn't die quite how they said, I'm not sure what would happen. Probably an investigation, but who knows where they've got the information hidden? The police might not even find anything." She stared him down. "Besides, how would you get the tape?"

He ignored the question. "What else would you need to prove that they're guilty?"

She shrugged. "I guess if we could get their servers online... They don't have any internet hookup, but if we could just get them plugged into a phone line... I might know someone who could get into them. But again: _how_ are you -- "

"You don't ask me how I'm going to do what I'm going to do," Chad said, "and I won't ask you who you know who can hack into their company server if I get it online. Deal?"

"Um, okay," she said. "Just, whatever you do, be careful, okay? If they _are_ killing people..." She met his eyes. "Then they've murdered at least four already. I doubt they'd have qualms about adding a fifth."

"Yeah," Chad said. "But first, I need to recharge. You want a pancake?"

\--

Once he'd eaten thirteen butter- and syrup-laden pancakes, while Martha looked on with an expression that could have been either wonder or horror, Chad felt up to getting started. His first stop was the campus library for inspiration. In the months since Captain Bolt and the others had appeared, superheroes had been all the rage and the library had set up an enormous front-room display. Chad perused the books they'd selected -- perused fast. Speed-reading was just one of those skills he'd somehow acquired; he couldn't retain everything he read, but he could get a good grasp on concepts. It made doing his homework much easier, anyway.

His suspicions all checked out. All the scholarly articles said that superheroes donned disguises to protect themselves and their loved ones. And the costumes were all pretty cool, Chad thought, as he let the descriptions of battles and super-powered tactics sink in, and formed a mental picture.

He was going to wear red.

His next stop was a used clothing store; he figured it would be harder to track down where clothes were purchased that way. _Not_ that he intended to get caught or give anyone anything to track down. He picked out some worn, black jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a red jacket. Finding a mask was harder, but he eventually found a dark red domino mask, and then he splurged on a pair of red running sneakers.

He looked awesome. Taylor would have thought so. He stared at himself in his mirror, and thought about her, and choked.

Chad was going to figure out who had killed her, and make him _pay_.

This time when he ran, it wasn't to exhaust himself. He wasn't running away from the memories. This was _better_.

He did a non-masked casual walk past the building to see what he could see: thick glass doors, guards in the lobby, and security cameras mounted all around. Timing was going to be crucial; he didn't want to have to actually open the door, because someone might notice that, even if they didn't see _him_. He needed to draw as little attention as possible.

Luckily, he saw someone on the sidewalk heading towards the door. Perfect. He took off, put on his mask, pulled his hair back at the nape of his neck, and ran two laps around the block, all while the woman crossed the street. She pushed open the door, stepped inside, and let the door go; in those few moments Chad blurred through, getting no more notice than a breeze.

Inside, he ran for the staircase and up to the right floor. _This_ was the hard part. He'd have to get inside, even if it meant breaking down the door. Not only would that slow him down, it would bring attention. His only option was to get in and out before any security could arrive.

He steeled himself and barreled into the door, hard enough to bust it down. It probably wouldn't have worked if he hadn't been running however many hundreds of miles an hour, but that gave him some serious momentum.

The secretary shrieked as the door split, but Chad was back on his feet and moving before she could see him. He heard the alarms as he dashed through the suite, knocking down door after door, until he found the server room Martha had described. He pulled the phone cord out of his jacket pocket and connected the nearest computer to the wall, then sped out of the room. He checked room after room, knocking down doors, until he finally found a security station. It wasn't like there was a big box labeled "Fake Security Tapes" or anything, but he yanked drawers open, knocked things off of shelves, and searched through everything he could find as fast as he could, until he found a drawer of tapes labeled with days of the week. He grabbed them all and ran out, passing security guards on their way in.

None of them saw him. He was home, free, clear, and safe, only seconds later.

\--

Chad, no longer in costume, met Martha at the _Examiner_'s office that night. She'd scrounged up a tape player from somewhere, and they planned to check each tape. But they didn't need to: the Tuesday tape, the day Taylor had died, showed her clearly. She got into the elevator, pushed the button, and went up -- alone, just like they'd said.

But the elevator opened at the right floor, and she stepped off.

There had definitely been no health crisis, no seizure. No _death_.

"Did you plug in the phone cord?" Martha asked.

Chad nodded.

"Okay. Then..." She rewound the tape. "I'll get my story started. And I'll get my friend started on getting into the system." She bit her lip. "Are you okay?"

Chad stared at the image of Taylor, now playing on the screen again, and he nodded.

\--

Taylor sifted the data. When she got started, it seemed crazy -- _impossible_. But whatever she'd become, this bodiless thing in the VR company's system, she wasn't human anymore, and she _could_ make sense of things. The zeroes and ones, the pieces of data, all started to make sense. It became instinct, like reading and writing.

So she got to work.

She found the files: records of the testing they'd done. The VR hardware was great; it did amazing stuff. It could completely fool the user's senses. But it was too much, and it could also completely _overwhelm_ the user's senses. And for some people, that really screwed them up. It blew out their synapses, and left them vegetables.

The friendly man who'd greeted her, introduced himself as the head of development for the company, had offered to give her a test drive of their first game before she got started looking for holes in their security. She'd never seen anything like it, so of _course_ she'd said yes. And it had been amazing.

Then something had happened. She just remembered a flash of light, feeling something incredibly hot and hard, and then...

Nothing, until she'd woken up like _this_.

The files on her said it was the same reaction they'd had before. They had never wanted her for security; they'd needed another test subject. But they couldn't do official testing, not after the first bad reaction had been reported. They couldn't afford to have word of the potential burn-out get to the public, so instead of official tests, they hired contractors like her, people who thought they were there to work, but who were actually being used as guinea pigs for the equipment.

But for some reason, when she'd died in the system... she'd stayed there. Maybe it was because she was a hacker, and she knew how the information worked. Maybe it had something to do with the equipment calibration. Maybe it was just crazy, improbable _luck_. But here she was. She could see anything she wanted on their server, access absolutely all of their information. But she was stuck there, with no outside connection; no way to stop them, no way to help.

And then, out of nowhere, a new trickle of information came in. A new connection. It was slow, relative to everything else, but it hooked to a much larger network. A much faster one. It was a way out.

As she examined it, she became aware of more. The security system had gone off; it was hooked into the intranet she was hiding on. She examined _that_ data, fitting it all together until suddenly she could _see_. They'd digitized their security tape to try and work with it, sharpen images and figure out what the hell had happened. And it was like Taylor had eyes again, when she watched it.

From her position on the network, she could see it pixel-by-pixel, notice things that the security team probably wouldn't.

If she'd had lungs, she'd have gasped, and then laughed until she cried. She watched Chad tear through the office in his ridiculous costume, saw him shove the cord into place, grab the tapes, and then speed out. He probably wasn't looking for her -- how could he even guess what had happened to her? -- but he must have known something was wrong with the story they'd concocted, and there he was, trying to figure it out.

And he'd even given her a way off of the closed network.

Time to let him know the truth.

\--

Chad hated being useless, but now it was all up to Martha and her hacker contact. She'd said it would be a few days before anything happened, before she'd have everything she needed for her story in the Examiner. There was nothing else for him to do _but_ wait.

He hated waiting.

But at least the feeling of numbness had finally started to lift. He finally listened to his messages. He called his parents, who he hadn't spoken to since the funeral, and let them know he was okay. He called Troy, but didn't chat for long, since he didn't really have much to say and Troy was in the middle of a date with Gabriella. Though Chad appreciated that Troy instantly offered to skip out and come visit, if Chad needed him.

He also finally sat down at his computer. Time to face the music. Probably most of his professors would understand what he'd been going through, and would give him some extensions, but he did have to contact them, at least.

His inbox was flooded with messages from friends. He scanned the list of senders quickly, but stopped and stared at one, only a couple of hours old. The sender was labeled as "+ayl0r," which he'd seen Taylor use as her handle online occasionally.

Not sure what to expect, he opened it.

> Chad
> 
> Don't panic. It's Taylor. I'm not dead. It sounds crazy, but I'm *inside* VR Experience's servers. I'm part of the network now. I saw you at VR Experience and I can help you.
> 
> I love you.

 

He stared. On the one hand, who would know about VR Experience? But on the other hand, pretending to be Taylor? That was really not funny. Not cool. He had no idea who the hell would do that, but it was totally unacceptable. He hit reply and typed angrily,

> listen asshole my fiance just died and I dont think this is funny. go to hell.

 

But two seconds later, he got a reply ding.

> Chad,
> 
> It's not a joke. I know you don't believe it, because I wouldn't either. But I'm inside the computer. I can prove that it's me: on our first date, I told you that I hated basketball and you made a joke about leaving -- but you wouldn't do it, because you wouldn't stick me with the check. I spent the rest of the night panicking that I'd lost my shot with the hottest guy who'd ever asked me out.
> 
> When I told you I finished college at 17 and my MA at 18, you told me that was sexy. I knew I wanted to marry you when you said that.
> 
> (You do know you never actually asked me the question, though, right? I admit now that I occasionally checked your bank account, because I'm nosy and banks have shitty security, and I saw the jewelry store purchase. I was waiting. I would have said yes.)
> 
> I know that you won't want to believe this. *I* barely believe it. But I'm in their system and this is the only way I can contact you. If you don't believe me, ask me anything. I can answer.
> 
> I love you, Chad.
> 
> Tay

 

He read it, then reread it, the reread it again. That was... well, _Taylor_. It sounded like her, it read like the emails she sent. It felt _familiar_. But it was impossible.

Then again, he had run the width of the planet four times that week.

He hit reply and typed:

> I want it to be true but you see why im skeptical.
> 
> First date is too obvious. Where did we go on the 5th?

 

Ding.

> We were supposed to go out for super-fancy Italian but the restaurant was closed due to serious health code violations. We joked about how expensive places were just as disgusting as cheap ones, and then we found a greasy hole in the wall and had tacos.
> 
> It's me, Chad.

 

Chad stared at his monitor.

It was her. The tacos had always been their in-joke; no one else got it, and they had never tried to explain. It was just one of those things, one of those silly couple things. One of those things that had been an early sign that they were falling in love.

> I believe you.
> 
> Is there anyone else in the system? At least 3 other ppl died working on VR stuff this year. Im looking into it. Can u help?

 

\--

The further she stretched, the more Taylor found she could do. She'd been an expert hacker before; she knew computer security and how to get around it. But now she was inside the system itself, she could flit past the protocols that she'd once have had to work around. Disabling them was cake.

She could sense some hacker attempting to get in through the connection Chad had installed. She followed him back and was sucked into the much, much larger structure of the internet. The data moved faster, and there was so much _more_ of it. It felt infinite, like staring into the night sky.

But she buckled down and didn't let herself get distracted. She traced the hacker and found his source -- a campus dorm room. She saw he'd exchanged some emails with her friend Chris, before Chris had died; and he was in contact with Martha Cox, too.

Taylor knew Martha was a journalist, and that she'd been close to Chris. She didn't see anything that showed that she'd been in contact with Chad, but _someone_ probably had tipped Chad off that VR Experience was not on the up-and-up. So this hacker probably hadn't picked VR Experience as a random target. He was probably looking for something.

Taylor flowed back to the VR Experience server. He was looking for information, and she could make sure he found it.

\--

> Yeah, I think I can help. Like, for example, I erased the security footage of you stealing those tapes. (BTW, the costume was a nice touch. You totally worked the MJ jacket.)

 

Chad grinned at the email, amazed but not totally surprised. Taylor had been amazing when she'd been... around, so why would that change?

I'm sure this goes without saying, babe, but I think maybe you shouldn't tell anyone about me. I don't think my family could handle it. And I can do things now that I never dreamed of... It's amazing, but terrifying. I have the sort of power we wouldn't want to fall into the wrong hands.

He typed back:

> Of course ur secret is safe with me. mine always was w/ u. ok so martha says shes got some big information.........everything goes public soon. its gonna be tough on ur family......&amp; me.
> 
> i know ur still here but i miss u so much. i love u taylor. maybe its too late to really do it............but ur still u.
> 
> will u marry me?

 

All her response said was, "Yes."

\--

Martha's story ran three days later, first in the _Examiner_, and then in the _Duke City Daily News_. Then it was picked up by the AP the next day and went national.

The police investigated. They seized VR Experience's equipment, though no one expected there to be any evidence left on it. But there it all was: detailed files and notes on the experiments they'd done -- and what they'd done with the people they'd experimented on. (Much to the confusion of the VR Experience security team, Taylor thought with amusement, since they'd definitely _tried_ to delete it all. It just kept coming back until it was out of their hands. Taylor, it turned out, could create backups.)

Taylor moved her base of operations from VR Experience's server to her own computer, still set up in her apartment, where she followed the news and watched the videos of the trial online. VR Experience was charged with murder -- and there was plenty of proof. There were tons of pictures of her family; of her sister crying, her father trying to look stoic, of Chad wearing a suit and tie and glaring daggers as VR's lawyers tried to worm their way out of everything.

It took three weeks for the trial to conclude. And more than anything, Taylor spent that time watching Chad, as he slowly came back to life. He started going to classes again. He hung out with friends, played basketball with Troy. He guiltily confessed to her one night that a girl had flirted with him, and she told him it was fine and she tried not to be jealous.

And when she was on her own, exploring the internet from the inside, she thought a lot about the future, and what to do next.

\--

Chad got home from his last class to find a package waiting in the hall outside his apartment. Inside, as was his new habit, he went straight to Taylor's office and sat at her desk chair. There was always a message waiting for him.

But this time, there was something better. Following her instructions, he'd set up a webcam that morning; he flipped it on as he sat down. The screen showing himself appeared, and next to it was a screen showing... Taylor. Almost. She'd created an incredibly accurate 3D avatar, with the kind of detail that Pixar and Dreamworks would have killed for.

"Whoa," he said. "You look fantastic."

"I know, right?" she answered.

He gaped. Her voice, like the avatar, wasn't quite _perfect_, but it was a damn good imitation.

"You are so cute when you're startled. Open the package!"

"How did you even do that?" Chad asked. "With your voice?"

"Got into the phone network, pulled my voice out of old voicemails, and worked on turning it into a voice program." Her avatar shrugged, amazingly lifelike.

Chad was sure that if he pretended hard enough, he'd be able to convince himself she really was just in the computer lab or something, that she'd be home soon. He steeled himself with a deep breath as he opened the package, and found... spandex?

"Tay?" he asked, staring at the outfit in front of him. It was like someone had taken his very brief masked getup and run with it; the spandex bodysuit was black, with red knee-high boots, red gloves, and a red mask.

"I figure with that, you can still rock the red jacket, and it'll look pretty damn hot. Try it on."

Chad looked back and forth from the outfit to the monitor and said, "When, exactly, am I going to wear this? Fancy dress party?"

"Put it _on_, Chad!"

He shrugged and stood up, stripped off his shirt.

Taylor whistled. "You know, it takes a pretty specific body type to pull off spandex, but I think you can manage it. Who knew toxic waste was so good for a person's physique?"

"Thanks," he said, flushing as he undressed. It wasn't like Taylor had never seen him naked before. But things were different now -- how could they not be? -- and it felt _weird_.

"Now look in a mirror," she instructed him.

Chad, fully decked out in black and red, took a look.

"You look _awesome_."

"I guess I do," he admitted. "But again: why?"

"Because you have these amazing abilities," she said, as he sat back down. "And now I do, too. There's not a computer system created that I can't get into. And not one person alive who can keep up with you."

"Yeah," he said.

"It's not what we'd have asked for," she said, "but we can make a difference."

He thought back to his mad rush into VR Experience's office, how exhilarating it had been _despite_ his grim determination. And how successful it had been. And how, growing up, he'd always sort of wanted to be a cop.

"I'm ordering gear that'll give you a pinhead cam and an earpiece, with a satellite linkup that'll let me see and hear what you do while you're on the job."

He relaxed in the chair and ran a hand across the mask, sitting on the desk. "So what else do we need? Equipment? Codenames? PR guy?"

"Creed?" she suggested. "How does this sound: 'go forth, and do good.'"

He nodded slowly, considering, then fixed the mask in place and looked at his image on the screen. "I like the sound of that," he admitted. "But how about something a little snappier?"

"Like what?"

"What do you think of just...Go?"


	5. Beginnings

"You're cheating," Troy accused, grinning widely.

Gabi fake-gasped. "I would never do that!" But she turned back to the skee-ball lane and rolled her last ball; it went straight up the edge and essentially flew into the tiny corner hole. Which gave her a perfect 900 score.

"Funny," he said. "Because I have pretty good aim, and I didn't even break 500."

She giggled. "I guess I just have better aim than you do."

He rolled his eyes fondly as he ripped the tickets off the end of machine. They'd cash them in for something later, when they were done with the carnival. "Well, I'll kick your butt on the strong-man machine!" He pointed towards the stand where guys were trying to impress their girlfriends by ringing the bell at the top of the strong-man hammer game.

"Are you _sure_?"

"I am pretty strong," he reminded her.

"But I can move things with my mind," she whispered back. "Things like the ringer."

"You are such a cheat!" he laughed.

"But if you want to win me a stuffed..." She trailed off.

"Bear?" he guessed. "Bunny? I think I saw some stuffed alligators... Gabi?"

She grabbed his arm. "Trouble! I can sense it... Come on!"

He sped after her as she threaded her way through the crowd, moving with urgent determination. EHU was holding its annual spring carnival, and the place was teeming with people, which made things difficult -- but then again, no one noticed two students pushing through the crowd. They broke free, didn't even stop to get their hands stamped for re-entry, and paused in a secluded corner of the parking lot to change into costumes. Troy blushed and turned around so he didn't accidentally see Gabi as she pulled on her sundress, but she was still changed before he was. Spandex was kind of tricky that way.

"From what I can tell, it's that Tiara girl and her sidekick," she said, leading the way off campus.

"Rocketman?" Troy asked

"That's the one." She brought them to the museum that was just off-campus; one of EHU's major selling points was all the high-class culture stuff right near the university. Gabriella floated them up to land on the roof, and true to the villains' MO, there was a hole in the ceiling. "Shall we?" she asked.

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing towards the hole.

Gabi jumped down, spry as a willow branch, and landed easily. She dashed off, and Troy followed somewhat less gracefully. He rounded a corner and found another hole down -- Tiara and Rocketman never bothered with stairs -- and didn't need to be a psychic to find the action. He could hear it: shouts and gasps and one scream. He ran towards the noise and skidded into the room.

Gabriella -- _Strawberry Sugar_, rather -- was facing off against Tiara, a catsuit-clad criminal. Tiara held a large golden scepter, apparently taken from one of the museum displays, and she went for Gabriella head-on. Troy knew that Gabi could hold her own, and turned to face Rocketman, who was distracted watching the girls fight.

Troy used that moment of distraction to his advantage. He ran three steps and leaped, tackling Rocketman, hoping to pin him down and tear the rocketpack off his back.

No such luck. Rocketman turned, saw him coming, and kicked his rocketpack into motion. He only got a few feet off the floor before Troy grabbed him, but he twisted in Troy's grip and left Troy with a facefull of flames and exhaust. It didn't hurt -- Troy was invulnerable, after all -- but he couldn't stop the coughing fit, since he _did_ have to breathe.

The museum didn't have an enormously high ceiling, but by flatting himself against it, Rocketman could stay just out of Troy's reach. Keeping one eye on him, Troy glanced over at Gabi and Tiara. And _gaped_.

Two massive forms backed Tiara now, but they weren't quite... _solid_. They looked humanoid, but thicker, wider than a person; as he watched, some of that bulk resolved into... armor? Tiara waved the scepter and the ghostly things surged forward. Gabi threw up her arms, the way she normally did to block something thrown at her, but absolutely nothing happened. One of them grabbed her, wrapping its enormous arms around her, but before Troy could move to help her, the other was on him.

It was like getting hit by a truck. Knocked off balance, Troy fell back and the thing _sat_ on him. Winded, he scrabbled to grab it, but for all it felt like a cement block, the armor was perfectly smooth and he couldn't get a handhold anywhere. He wheezed, tried to roll, but couldn't move.

Tiara laughed and motioned again; Gabi yelled in pain. Troy clenched his fists with anger, but couldn't move. But maybe it pissed off Gabi, too, because even though she couldn't escape from the thing that had grabbed her, Tiara went flying across the room and crashed into the wall. She blinked, looking dazed, and the thing sitting on Troy suddenly lightened, looking... blurry? Troy didn't stop to think about it, just shoved it off of him and rolled, then jumped to his feet as soon as he was clear.

The thing that had grabbed Gabi went flying, too, and Strawberry turned to face down Tiara. Troy stepped forward to back her up, but something crashed into his head. He winced away instinctively and swiveled to find out what was going on: Rocketman had grabbed an artifact from one of the displays in the room and hurled it at him. Troy figured he could ignore it, because Rocketman couldn't actually _hurt_ him with anything, but the next artifact he hurled broke on impact, and showered Troy with dust. It got in his eyes and nose, and he couldn't stop the coughing fit.

Unable to see, he jumped and flailed madly, but connected and grabbed Rocketman's leg. He clenched it and Rocketman shouted in pain, but it kept him in place until Troy could see again. Then he dragged Rocketman down, despite the firing rocketpack, and reached for the pack's straps. He snapped them and it went spiraling off. Awesome.

Or not awesome. It flew straight at Gabi and Tiara, who were still grappling for the scepter. Gabi shrieked and raised her hand to knock it away, her mental powers stopping it before it could hit them. But that was more than enough time for Tiara to grab the scepter and back off a few steps. She raised it again and snapped, "Jimmie! Stop playing around!"

Rocketman let out an undignified squawk, but couldn't get away from Troy. Tiara glowered at him and gestured with the scepter. The _things_ came back, three of them now, no longer blurry. One of them barreled into Troy, knocking him down and freeing Rocketman, who scrambled for safety next to Tiara. One tried for Gabi, but this time _she_ took to the air. It was big enough that she barely had clearance above it, and as Troy struggled to try and free himself, it began to grow. It reached up and pinned her against the ceiling, and Troy could see her struggle, but to no avail.

The third turned to the wall and pounded forward, creating a new exit. Tiara jumped on its back, it scooped up Rocketman and his failing, detached rocketpack, and disappeared out the hole and into the night. Moments later, the two remaining beasts faded out of existence.

"We'd better go," Troy said, as he surveyed the damage. The room was a wreck, with several displays that had been knocked over, but very little seemed to actually be missing. In fact, Troy hadn't seen Tiara grab anything except that one scepter, but it seemed like the scepter was what had controlled the enormous creatures. Troy shuddered. With that kind of power, there was no telling what a villain like Tiara might do.

\--

Zeke was pretty sure that if it weren't for his mother's files, he'd never have managed to make it as a superhero. He was fine at the physical stuff, the running around, beating people up, looking hot in a mask parts. That stuff was surprisingly easy. And he was decent with the whole crime solving thing, and getting better with practice. But his mother had kept detailed notes on every case she'd worked, which certainly helped (criminals had gotten higher tech in the sixteen years since she'd retired, but the basics were essentially the same); and more importantly, she'd detailed things like how to create a fake identity and rent a storage space to keep her gear. Thanks to her details (and his own meager savings) he'd managed to fake a motorcycle license, buy one anonymously, and teach himself to ride it, which made the whole hero gig a _lot_ easier. He'd also learned how to purchase handcuffs and bugs and other equipment that came in handy. Her detailed files were basically a by-the-numbers, how-to guide to being a masked hero.

They'd also stressed the importance of allies, so Zeke had set about collecting some. He had an uneasy truce with Aaron Kingsley, who was morally shady but knew a lot about how criminals thought. He was generally willing to help Zeke connect the dots when he got stuck on a case. Zeke had also found Dr. Trace, who -- after Zeke had rescued his kidnapped sister -- was more than willing to stitch him up on the occasion he needed it. And, perhaps most importantly, Zeke had Detective Louisa Garcia.

Louisa, like basically everyone else in the world, it seemed, had known Zeke's mom. She'd been a rookie cop right around the time his mother had retired, and his mom's diary had detailed their meeting. They'd been allies back then; Louisa had been frustrated by red tape that sometimes kept cops from bringing in badguys, and Frappe could use somewhat less-than-legal methods to get the job done. Louisa covered for Frappe, slipped her info; in return, Frappe had served her up criminals on a silver platter. So only a few weeks after first taking up his mother's mask, Zeke had dropped in on her.

He was pretty sure Louisa liked him. They met on the roof of the police building for coffee once a week; mostly they chattered and Zeke picked up what he could from her. She was a senior detective now, and had years of experience. And it hadn't taken long before, listening in on police scanners, he'd realized that Louisa sometimes spoke directly to him.

Like when she said, seemingly innocently to her junior partner while _coincidentally_ hitting the talk button on her radio, "You know, those diamond thieves we've been chasing for months? I'd be willing to bet my badge and gun that they'll go after the Evans display at Jack's. And they'll have to do it while it's still there."

Zeke was willing to bet that she was right. Vance and Derby Evans and their kids were essentially Duke City's first family; they owned about half of the city, and Evans Inc employed a large percentage of the city's population. And Derby's fiftieth birthday was coming up at the end of the week. Of _course_ there was going to be a party -- not just any party, but the party of the season. As a birthday present, Vance had decided to spring for some outrageously expensive jewelry for her. There had been an article on it in the _Examiner_: hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of diamonds on a necklace. It was more art than jewelry, really, and Jack of Diamonds (the city's most high-end jewelry shop) was treating it that way in the days running up to the party. It was on display.

Zeke smiled to himself, mentally thanked Louisa, and headed for the store. He couldn't blame her for dropping him a tip -- if he could stop the crime before it happened, she wouldn't have to solve it.

He parked his motorcycle in the shadows, did a quick circuit of the block to make sure nothing had already gone down, then used one of his nifty new tricks to tap into the security system. That done, he set up shop on an overlooking roof, keeping an eye out and enjoying a thermos of coffee. But all was quiet. He listened to the police chatter, but nothing major seemed to be going down in the city; police were dealing with some drunk college students who'd gotten too rowdy in a bar and started breaking things, a couple of hookers brought in for processing, and a reported car robbery. The usual.

It was almost two AM when the shop's silent alarm went off, and the device he'd installed started to vibrate. "Good call, Louisa," he murmured, dropped his snack, and leapt. He landed cleanly on the store's roof, dropped down to the edge and found a sealed window. Working quickly, he slid a thin strip of metal into the frame and used it for leverage until the window popped open. He let himself in, shut it after him, and crept carefully down to the main room. He didn't want to set off any alarms, either.

He heard the thieves before he saw them.

"Go check on it!" The voice was female, just around the corner.

"You do it!" Male.

"Ught, wimp. _Fine_, but no one is here." The same female voice, so there were probably just the two of them, which matched up with the diamond thieves who'd been spotted occasionally throughout the last year. But they'd also made a mistake, and the thieves who'd been working the area were experienced enough to take out an alarm system. Zeke frowned and decided to go the more careful route.

Dropping low, he crept around the corner to observe.

And okay, he'd expected someone in a costume, but he had not expected a full suit. But the man who'd been speaking was decked out in a dark colored suit -- hard to tell if it was a deep blue or black in the dim lighting -- with a fedora shading his face.

The woman swished back towards him. She was in party gear, too: a white dress that ended above her knee with high slits, high boots, and long gloves. And, he could see because she was facing towards him, a mask. "We're not too late," she said.

"Thank god." The man took a quick glance around the room. "I still don't think this was a good idea."

If Zeke were the sort of hero who was big on banter, he'd have said something like, _No, it wasn't_, and jumped them. But he was more into being careful than that, so instead of rushing to the fight, he produced a tiny camera from his vest and snapped a few pictures.

"I feel like something's... not right," the woman said. She nudged the man and he turned slowly. Zeke could now see that he had a mask, too, as he stared intently into the darkness around them.

And then he stared directly at Zeke.

"Well, would you look at that?" he laughed, and nudged her.

She snapped her fingers, and suddenly the room got _bright_. Zeke threw up an arm to shield his face, hoping to save his night vision, and ran forward as the brightness faded, since the element of surprise was gone anyway.

He only made it halfway down the hall before the light was gone again, and in its place was blackness. He froze. This wasn't someone-turned-out-the-lights dark; this was a total _absence_ of light, blacker than he'd ever seen before. Before he could go on, hoping his memory would orient him, something huge and heavy and cold slammed against him. His back hit the wall and he struggled for breath, even as he tried to squirm his way out of the grip that had him pinned.

No luck. No _grip_: it was more like some kind of goo, thick and sticky enough to keep him from moving through it. He heaved a breath, glad for that at least, and the lights came back to normal.

"Well," the woman said, now a good deal closer. "He's _cute_."

So was she, actually, with a slim figure and legs for miles, a delicious smirk, brown eyes beneath her mask, and hair he would have liked to run his fingers through in another situation. But he didn't say that.

"So he is." The man regarded him with a more detached expression, and he waved vaguely as he spoke. The goo surrounding Zeke flowed as the man gestured; it was never enough to let him get away, but enough to let him breathe easily and shift slightly. "But what do we do with him?"

Banter wasn't Zeke's thing, but it had its place, since it got people talking and the more they talked, they more likely they were to drop some clues. "You could let me go and maybe I won't kick your ass," Zeke answered.

The woman laughed, and the man smiled widely. "Big threats for a guy who can't move unless I let him go." He glanced at the woman. "You were right. This _is_ fun."

"Told you so," she answered.

So they _weren't_ the thieves who'd been around before, if this was his first time. What were they, then? "If you want fun, there's a student carnival tonight," Zeke said. "Jail, on the other hand, not so much."

The woman giggled, turning to the man. "I wonder how many cigarettes you're worth?"

Her partner in crime scowled back at her. "You really aren't funny... Chi."

Chi. Okay, so she had a name. "Skinny guy like you," Zeke said, running his gaze down the man's frame -- he had a large _S_ on his hat band, he was standing a little too close, and he had a horrible stance for action -- and then back up, "definitely going to want to find someone big to protect you."

The man's shoulders went stiff and he narrowed his eyes. "I can protect myself fine."

"Is that so?" The other thing Zeke had noticed was that the goo was only restraining his upper body. He couldn't move his arms, he couldn't move away from the wall, but his legs were utterly unrestricted. And S-man, whoever he was, was close enough to damage.

Zeke didn't let his gaze flick down again so it couldn't give a warning. He lashed out with one leg, getting it between the man's legs; he twisted his foot and yanked forward at the back of the man's knee, sending him toppling forward. He fell right into Zeke, actually, but Zeke had braced himself for that. But it also distracted S-Man from whatever he was doing with the goo, which vanished. Even better. Zeke ducked and grabbed him, shoved him into the wall, twisted his arm up behind him, and held him pinned.

"Gotta say, I'm not that impressed." He shook his head a little and glanced over at the woman -- Chi. "Back off," he told her.

She narrowed her eyes, but took two steps back. With his free hand, Zeke reached for one of his sets of cuffs, but he kept his eyes on her -- the man he had pinned wasn't going anywhere, but Chi looked devious. And sure enough, she raised her arm and --

He squinted. Light appeared, dancing in a thin stream in front of her. She lashed out and it flowed like a whip; he dodged and grabbed his captive, thrust him in the way. He let out an angry noise and everything went black _except_ for the stream of light.

Zeke hit the floor as silently as he could, hoping to get under the light whip and over to its source, but the man, much closer than the woman, kicked him hard in the ribs. Zeke tried to grab for him and pull him down, but he evaded easily and Zeke realized abruptly he must be able to see in the dark.

So much for using the darkness to his advantage. Zeke braced himself and waited, and when the next kick came he rolled into it, letting out only the slightest _oof_ because this jackass kicked _hard_. But the moment S-Man connected put him close enough to grab, so it was worth it. Zeke yanked, and when the man hit the ground the lights came back.

"Seriously, you kind of suck," Zeke told him, getting him pinned _again_, and trying not to let on how badly his side was going to be bruised.

But this time the crook didn't have the decency to just stay still. He elbowed and rolled, and the shadowy goo appeared where he'd been. It grabbed at Zeke, pulling him to the floor, face to the tiles; this time it didn't even have wiggle room. _Damn it_.

The man stood and straightened his hat. "Thanks for all the help," he snapped.

"You seemed to have it under control, Scuro," she answered brightly.

"Yeah. Now what?"

"Now," a new voice said, "I think you probably go to jail."

Zeke didn't know the voice, but he was glad to hear it anyway; he managed to twist his head and could make out red boots. Which only matched up with one costume he could think of -- Go, the fast guy.

"No, sis," the man -- Scuro, apparently -- said. "_That_ one's cute." He cleared his throat. "Look, there's been some sort of misunderstanding."

"Doesn't matter how fast you talk," Go answered. "I'm _faster_."

Zeke managed not to groan. Banter, really? But half a heartbeat later, Go knocked Scuro off his feet, and the goo vanished. Zeke was on his feet almost instantly; since Scuro and Go were grappling, he turned to Chi. He took a step forward and her eyes lit up. A flick of her hand brought the dazzling light back. She swirled it like a whip and he ducked back, out of its range. Or it _should_ have been, but the damn thing got longer and caught him in the same side where he'd been kicked. There was no impact pain -- it wasn't solid. But it _burned_. Not enough to stop him, though. He dashed forward and she ran away, ducking behind a display case. The one that held the Evans' jewels, of course.

"Come on," Zeke said. "I don't really want to hit a girl, so do us both a favor, and -- "

"I hate it when people talk down to me," she snapped, and flicked her hand. The whip was gone, and instead a dazzling light -- pure _heat_ \-- exploded at his feet. He leapt to the side, agile despite the pain. But he couldn't get any closer to her: every step he took forward, she hit him with something that hurt too much to run through.

He glanced over his shoulder. Go had an upper hand against Scuro, but just barely. He was too fast for the shadow goo to catch, but Scuro's pure dark trick kept him off his game, so it wasn't a lopsided match, either.

Another light-bomb exploded and Zeke danced back another step. Chi put her hand on the glass of the jewelry display. And there was no _way_ Zeke was going to let her grab that right in front of him. He started forward again, and this time when she set off the explosion, he jumped up instead of back. It still burned, but he was close enough now, and grabbed her arm.

She whirled and punched him in the face. He reeled but kept his grip, and no longer felt bad about that whole girl-hitting situation. He yanked and kicked and managed to slam her against the waist-high display case. She grunted in pain but stomped down on his boot; he held his ground and grabbed for her other hand, but everything went bright and white-hot. He shut his eyes and tried to hold her in place, but a hand like burning grabbed his neck and he had to let her go to knock it away. He dropped down again -- the floor was usually the safest place -- and tried to get oriented.

When the world went back to normal, his night vision was utterly shot; he squinted into the dim room, but she was already way out of range. "Scuro!" she yelled. "Let's go!"

"Not so fast... " Go started, but the room went pitch black. Again.

Brightness exploded against it like fireworks, forming a perfect heart in midair. It took a few seconds to fade, and when it did, they were gone.

Zeke groaned and pushed himself up, but before he could so much as blink, Go stood in front of him and offered him a hand. He accepted it and winced. _Now_ he could feel the two kicks to his ribs, and all of the burns, and the bruise forming on his face. God _damn_.

"Frappe, right? You okay?" Go asked.

"Yeah. I'll live." He glanced at the display. It was broken, but the necklace was still there. He groaned and headed for the door, still open from the crooks' escape. Go walked with him. "Don't suppose you could do me a favor? I left a thermos up there." He pointed at the rooftop. "If you could -- Thanks." Go had gone and returned already, and held up the thermos.

The coffee had cooled off, but it was good enough. Zeke kept extra-strength painkillers on him all the time now; he swallowed three and took a few deep breaths.

"So what was going on?" Go asked. "Who were they?"

"Not sure. Never heard of them before," Zeke said.

"The diamond thieves?"

"That's what I thought, but definitely not. Not the same ones, anyway." He glanced back. "And they didn't take the diamonds, so I'm not sure _what_ the hell was going on."

"Huh. Weird."

Zeke reached his motorcycle and grabbed his keys. "They called themselves Chi and Scuro, and --"

"Hang on." Go paused for a few seconds, then nodded. "Probably a reference to chiaroscuro, an Italian art term. Means light-dark, which makes sense, considering..."

"Yeah," Zeke said.

"And there's no reference to them on any police database in the country."

"How the hell do you know _that_?"

Go shrugged. "I've got my ways."

"Okay. Well." Zeke hesitated, not sure what to say. He hadn't exactly had the situation under control before Go had arrived -- okay, he was getting knocked around pretty badly -- and he'd never needed back-up before. But on the other hand, his mother _had_ written extensively about allies, and the whole mentor/doctor/cop thing had worked out so far. "Thanks for the help."

"Hey, no problem. I -- " He paused again. "Well, that's weird. Apparently the original diamond duo just practically destroyed the art museum. Got away." Another pause. "Which is weird, because they had never hit anything but jewelry before..."

"Seriously, _where_ are you getting all this from?"

Go shot him a grin. "Got a silent partner." He tapped on his ear. "I do the legwork, she figures things out. She says hi, by the way."

"Uh, okay." He climbed on to his bike. "Well. I've gotta finish some business up, but... I'll be on the lookout for those two. I really hate losing."

"Me, too," Go said. "I'll be around, okay? You know, if you need help. I'll find you."

That wasn't exactly much for Zeke to count on. But before he could ask for an actual way of getting in touch, Go was gone.

So much for forming an alliance. But some help was better than none, at least. Zeke shook his head in wonder and headed towards the police station. It was mostly empty this time of night, but Louisa's office window was lit. He let himself up the fire escape, made his way over, and knocked.

She opened it and raised her eyebrows. "Fun night?" she asked.

"Got my ass kicked a little," he admitted. "But no one has stolen the Evans' diamonds, so far."

She chuckled. "Want an ice pack?"

"Nope. I want to go home and sleep. But I figured you'd want this." He tossed her the camera and she flipped her computer on. "Someone -- two someones -- did _try_ at the jewelry store."

"Yeah, we got the alarm. There's a car over there now."

"They're just going to find some wreckage. Mostly that wasn't my fault. The perps call themselves Chiaro and Scuro, and they've got super powers."

This time, she actually laughed. "You sound just like your... predecessor," she said. Zeke had never actually told her the original Frappe was his mom, but he figured she suspected. "She always hated the ones with superpowers. Said you had to be _smarter_ to take them down."

He rubbed his side. "Yup."

She plugged the camera in and transferred the pictures, then handed it back to him. "Well, thanks. You gonna get home okay?"

He nodded. "No problem."

"Be safe, Frappe." She gave him a smile as he ducked back out of the building. He checked the time. Only 3 AM. That qualified as an early night, but he was pretty beat up and definitely needed some sleep.

\--

"Hi, honey, I'm home," Chad said, though he was already in the bedroom. It hadn't taken him more than a moment to get from the door to the bedroom, though, and as fast as Taylor's circuits were, they couldn't always keep up with him. He tossed his jacket down on his bed and began to strip off the spandex suit.

"Oooh, baby," she greeted him. "Take it _all_ off."

He laughed and turned to face the projector they'd set up. Taylor wanted more mobility in the apartment, and putting enormous computer monitors in every room just wasn't practical. Instead, they'd installed a bunch of webcams and projectors, all networked to one main computer. She could turn them on and off or swivel them, which let her basically follow him from room to room.

Taylor smiled back at him. "You know, babe, boxers really aren't that practical for under the suit. They kind of bunch and it shows."

"Well, by that theory, really no underwear will work. I mean, who wants a panty line?" He flopped down on the bed, and she swiveled the projection up to the ceiling so her image leered down at him.

"Maybe you just shouldn't wear underwear," she suggested.

"And _that's_ supposed to be _more_ practical? Flamey McFlamerson tonight almost got me in the nuts. No way am I not protecting the family jewels."

She rolled her eyes. It was amazingly lifelike. "Flamey McFlamerson? Really, Chad?"

"What? He was." He loosed his hair from its ponytail and sighed. "And besides, he said it himself. He thinks I'm cute."

"Like you need some gay criminal to tell you that. Speaking of which, the police just put out an APB on them." Two pictures appeared on the projection next to her; one of Chiaro, one of Scuro. They weren't great pictures, but they were clear enough. "Looks like your new friend was carrying a camera. Good for him."

"New friend," Chad mused. "Can you imagine taking on criminals like that with no super powers? Dude's got serious balls."

"Yeah, but his don't show through his costume," Taylor said.

Chad rolled his eyes fondly. "Speaking of costumes, those two look more like they're going to some kind of fancy-shmancy party than out for a night of stealing stuff. I mean, just look at Mr. Pinstriped Suit."

Taylor's avatar shrugged, and gave him a clear shot of the criminal. His suit was navy, with a gold pinstripe; he had a gold tie, and a gold domino mask. What showed of his features was sharp and angular. He was probably pretty handsome, though it was hard to tell with the mask, but his eyes showed clearly: bright, sharp blue.

Chad had brought in a few criminals in the few months since Taylor had sort-of-died, but none with superpowers. Fighting Scuro had been really _exciting_. Chad had had the advantage in speed and size; but Scuro had had that darkness thing going for him, and he really knew how to _move_. Pinning Scuro down had been hard, even with super-speed, and the few hits Scuro had gotten in had really hurt. Chad rubbed his hand over one of the bruises. Yeah, he was going to feel that for awhile.

"Definitely expensive," Taylor agreed. "Probably even tailored for them. Good idea; I'll see if I can find any purchases or alterations on dresses or suits like this. If they were paid for with a credit card..."

"What are the odds that our suspects are that dumb?"

"Worth a shot. I'll let you know." She brought herself back up onto the screen, and raised her eyebrows. "You get some sleep. I'll get on it."

"You're the greatest, Tay." He got up for long enough to put his costume away properly, then turned out the light and threw himself back down on the bed. Taylor's image was still projected above him. He smiled up at her, not sure if she'd be able to make it out through the webcam, and he tried to relax. But he couldn't get those bright blue eyes out of his mind.

\--

Gabriella was smart. That didn't just come from being telepathic; she studied hard, too. She loved logic problems because she liked to figure things out. And the night's battle was _definitely_ something that needed to be figured out.

Good thing she worked at the library. She had a shift the morning after Tiara and Rocketman's robbery, and mornings were always pretty dead. Plenty of time to research. She sat down at the desk and got to work.

Tiara had only stolen one thing: the scepter. That, after _months_ of diamond robberies. So obviously there was something special about it. Luckily, EHU liked to try and get its students cultured, so the college website had plenty of information about big displays at local museums. The display was called "Art and Artifacts," and it featured a collection of gorgeous antiques, things that were both beautiful and ancient.

The scepter was the oldest artifact in the collection, though no one was actually quite sure where it was from. Through the centuries, it had belonged to a number of powerful rulers -- mostly ones who had seized power violently. That was interesting in and of itself, but the legends that had grown up around the scepter were even more interesting. And scary.

Legend was that the scepter gave whoever controlled it access to an unstoppable, immortal army. There were no clear ideas of what that meant, but the legends referred to them simply as Knights. The more power that went into the scepter, the more Knights there would be -- bigger, stronger, and totally under the control of whoever wielded the scepter. It would take a lot of power to just make them solid, and even more to make them permanent -- until that point, getting the scepter away from whoever wielded it would cause the Knights to vanish.

Well, obviously the enormous things that had appeared the previous night were Knights. Tiara controlling them was really bad. And if she got them up to full strength... Oh, that would be _bad_.

Finding out how the scepter was actually _powered_ was a little harder. It went well beyond the museum's website, but hardly beyond Gabi's research abilities. What made it the most difficult was that there were so many rumors, and no one was sure which ones were true. Well, no one believed any of them were true, but no one knew which ones the people who'd used the scepter had believed were true.

But then Gabriella found out about the diamonds. According to one legend, setting diamonds into the scepter's pommel would power it -- the more diamonds, the better; the bigger, and the more pure, the stronger the Knights would be. That had to be it, given what Tiara had been stealing.

Gabriella found every image of the scepter she could, examined every angle, looked for insets where the diamonds might go. She counted sixteen. Gabi pulled up the _Examiner_ website and searched the articles about the diamond robberies; if those were accurate, then Tiara had at least ten that were _definitely_ large enough, and maybe a few more that would work. But that didn't matter, because Derby Evans' birthday necklace had six sizable, high-quality, ultra-pure diamonds. It would definitely give Tiara more than enough diamonds to power the scepter, and strengthen the Knights.

She reached for her phone to call Troy and let him know, but froze when she saw another link on the mythological rumor website she'd found -- there was more.

Diamonds would _power_ the scepter, and would allow whoever wielded it to control the Knights. But to make them truly immortal, undefeatable, she'd need something else. Something _more_.

Blood.

Tiara needed a human sacrifice to make her soldiers immortal.

\--

Zeke drooped over his textbook. The thing about nocturnal heroism was that it kept him busy when he should have been asleep, and during the day, when he was supposed to be awake, he was busy _anyway_. He was up for at least twenty out of every twenty-four hours, and he lived on coffee. The only way he was able to fit in catnaps was by doubling up on activities when he could, which mostly meant doing schoolwork while sitting at the counter of his dad's bakery. And even that kind of sucked, because he preferred actually baking to cashiering. But it was a necessary sacrifice if it was the only way to avoid having to drop out of college entirely.

Yawning, he turned a page, and glanced up. Something outside caught his eye -- something flashy and pink. A car. A Barbie-pink _Mustang_. What a terrible, terrible thing to do to an innocent car, and besides that, what the hell was it doing stopped in his neighborhood? People who drove flashy cars tended to avoid the Heights whenever possible.

The car parked right outside, and its riders exited. Moments later the welcome bells on the bakery chimed. Zeke looked at them and smiled.

There were two, a boy and girl. And they positively _reeked_ of cash. The boy was wearing weird pants -- robin's egg blue -- with a button-down shirt, shiny shoes, and a newsboy cap. But the girl...

She wore a pink miniskirt that ended in a ruffle and a white shirt with a skimpy pink vest that may not have separated, but provided a fair amount of _lift_. She had a purse with a tiny dog in it, high heels, and very, very shiny blond hair. She was pure movie-star gorgeous. And standing right there in his bakery. Suddenly aware of the fact that he was in a cheap sleeveless shirt that was covered in flour and sugar, he swallowed hard. But before the looks on their faces could get too disdainful -- everything about their body language screamed that they did _not_ want to be there -- he said, "Good morning. Can I help you?"

All he expected was for one of them to ask directions. Of all the shops on the main drag, Baylor Bakery was probably the friendliest looking, so for a couple of lost rich kids... Then again, they probably had GPS.

Instead, the girl asked, "Do you cater?"

"We can," he said. They just didn't usually get orders for it.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" the boy asked.

"_Yes_," the girl snapped at him. Then, to Zeke, "Our father sent us to do some sampling. Our party planner is too busy, somehow, which is just stupid. What the hell is the point of hiring a party planner if she's going to be too busy to do the actual work?" She gestured angrily as she spoke. "But anyway, Daddy _insisted_ we come all the way out here. He says this place is a hidden gem."

Obviously, she didn't believe it. She was in for a surprise, then.

"I'm glad you did," Zeke said. "So I can have a chance to impress you. Why don't you tell me a little about this party -- and what kinds of dessert you like?"

"It's my mom's fiftieth birthday party," she said.

"Your mom's..." He put it together. "Your mom is Derby Evans."

She brightened. "Yes! And of course we've got the actual _meal_ put together, but..."

"Mommy is so picky about her sweets," the boy put in.

He had to be at least as old as Zeke was, if not older. And he still called his mother _Mommy_. Uh huh. But Zeke just nodded. "Well, I can tell you why your dad sent you here." He walked to one of the display cases as he spoke. "About twenty years ago, my dad worked out at your country club. He was a caddy -- at first. But he mentioned that he worked in a bakery, and apparently your mother got him moved into the kitchen to assist the pastry chef. And _apparently_ he perfected his recipe for _these_." He pulled out the tray of cream puffs and set them on the counter. "And he _still_ brags about how much the club members loved them."

"Your dad, huh?" she asked, reaching for one. "So you know I'm an Evans... That makes you a Baylor?"

"Zeke," he said.

"Sharpay." She smiled. "Thanks for the sample."

Zeke smiled at her again, but turned his attention to her brother. "You want one?" he offered. "Or anything else?"

The guy shot him a lingering look and laughed. "Nothing under the glass, no."

Zeke knew a lot of guys who'd have freaked out at that, but he opted to be flattered instead. And besides, from a strictly sales point of view, he wanted to keep these two happy. So if Derby Evans' son liked to hit on guys, he'd just roll with it.

"Well," Zeke said, leaning forward and flexing his arms over the display case, "you can probably get a better look over here."

The guy looked taken aback, apparently not expecting to have Zeke flirt _back_ with him. But then he gave Zeke a sly smile and said, "Even from over here, everything looks... _delicious_."

Sharpay cleared her throat loudly. "Well, _I_ can't imagine growing up in a bakery. I think I'd weigh about 300 pounds."

"I work out," Zeke told her.

"No kidding." She eyed his arms. "You must practically live in the gym."

"Dojo, actually," he said. "I teach martial arts." He tapped his finger just under the bruise on his face. "Not all of my students are very coordinated. _Ow_."

"But it keeps you in shape," she laughed.

He nodded, then said, "So, what else would you like to try? Cake, pastry ... Try a cookie." He didn't wait for her to answer. If the cream puffs had been his father's specialty, these cookies were his. He handed one to her, and, when her brother looked intrigued, one to him, too.

She nibbled, and her eyes lit up. "This is amazing! I mean -- I mean _amazing_. It's just a cookie, but..."

"You should taste my creme brulee."

"_You_ made these?"

He nodded.

"Marry me," she said.

He laughed. "My mom always said, she fell in love with my dad's baking."

"Do you flirt with all of your customers?" the brother asked.

"Only the cute ones," Zeke assured him, and shot Sharpay a smile. She raised her eyebrows, but didn't look displeased, either.

"Zeke! You're going to be late for ... Oh. Hello." Zeke glanced back to see his father walking out of the kitchen, pausing to hang up his apron.

"Dad, this is Sharpay and -- sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Ryan," the brother supplied.

"Sharpay and Ryan Evans," Zeke finished. "They're thinking about asking us to help out with their mother's party. And I was about to offer to throw in a free batch of cookies with their order."

"My personal trainer is going to have a bone to pick with you," Sharpay told him.

Zeke grinned. "It was nice to meet you. I hope you'll come back around here... for the cookies, of course."

"You have to go?" she pouted.

"I have a class across town, and unless I want to go covered in sugar, I'd better be off. But it really _was_ nice to meet you, Sharpay." He smiled at her, threw a quick nod at Ryan, and hurried out into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock -- not enough time to shower if he watched to catch his bus, but he _did_ dash upstairs to pull on a clean shirt and grab the rest of his stuff for class. Then it was a race to the bus stop. The bus was, at best, unpredictable; it was late more often than it was early, but it waited for no one when it decided to show up, and only came once every half-hour. Usually, it dropped Zeke at the EHU campus with about two minutes to spare, but if it was late or he'd missed it, he'd miss anywhere from ten minutes to three quarters of the class.

And as he skidded to a stop under the graffiti-strewn bus shelter, he could see it down the block. In the wrong direction. He glanced at his watch -- it was a minute early, but even if the next bus was on time, yeah, it was going to be a half-an-hour-late day. And professors just _loved_ when kids who never had time to do the reading came in late to class.

He sighed and leaned against the side of the shelter, wishing he had a cup of coffee, or even one of those horrible high-sugar, high-caffeine energy drinks. He checked his watch about once a minute for the next five minutes, then gave up, set down his bag, and stretched. He was still feeling the previous night's fight, and while stretching couldn't do much for the bruises, it at least got his body loosened up.

The pink mustang pulled up as he was bending down to touch his feet. He glanced up to see Sharpay and Ryan both looking at him expectantly.

"You go to EHU?" Ryan asked.

Zeke straightened, and nodded.

"Get in," Sharpay told him, gesturing to the back. "That's where we're going, too."

"Oh, uh, thanks." He paused. "So do you offer rides to _every_ casual acquaintance?"

"Only the _really_ cute ones," Sharpay said.

Zeke grinned. He shouldered his backpack and then, just because he could -- and maybe he liked showing off for cute girls (and, when it came down to that, their gay brothers) -- he put a hand on the door and vaulted over it into the seat, instead of opening it. Ryan whistled appreciatvely.

"We picked up some samples to bring to the party planner," Sharpay told him, pulling into traffic. "But if I have my way, we'll be using your bakery."

"She always gets her way," Ryan said.

"I'm glad you liked what you tasted." And because he couldn't exactly turn off the detective part of his brain, he added, "So what's the party going to be like? A lot of security after last night, right?"

"Ught, last night," Sharpay muttered. "Don't get me started. I don't know what the hell my parents were thinking, putting that necklace on display! It was practically inviting someone to steal it. Thank god it _didn't_ get stolen."

"Yeah, wow," Zeke said. "I bet the store is, like, tripling security now."

"Store? Please. We _finally_ talked Mom into putting that somewhere with real security."

"Where?"

Ryan swiveled and gave him a suspicious look. "Why are you so interested?"

"You think I get a window into the lives of the rich and famous every day?" Zeke covered smoothly.

Ryan cocked his head. "We aren't famous... yet."

"Soon, though," Sharpay said. "We're going to be on Broadway. Just you wait."

"Oh, I believe it," he said. But that wasn't getting him anywhere; he needed them to keep talking. "So you liked the bakery?"

"It's sort of remote," Sharpay said, gesturing with one hand while she drove. "But that actually makes it better. I _love_ setting trends. Being the first to find an amazing new bakery? _Fabulous._"

Zeke couldn't stop himself. "We aren't exactly new. Been around since '68. Founded by my grandfather."

"Oh. Well, no one I know has ever heard of it."

"Shocking," he muttered. So she was gorgeous and rich; she was also a snob.

Ryan cleared his throat. "We were really impressed, is all she means. You guys deserve more customers. You could make a killing downtown."

The levels of _not getting it_ were almost too high for Zeke to deal with. But at least it was an opening. "Well, maybe if you guys let us cater your party, that'll bring in some business, too. I can't even imagine how huge it's going to be."

"Enormous!" Sharpay sang. "I'll be so grateful when it's over. Mother is being _such_ a pain in the -- "

"Shar!" Ryan interrupted. "She is _not_."

"Mama's boy. She is so. But I _suppose_ it's probably pretty stressful, and after last night's break-in, she's at the end of her rope." Oddly, she didn't sound too displeased by that. "And it's so annoying. You were right about the security -- we've got detectives running background checks on absolutely everyone who's going to be there, _and_ who's working there. Even people we've known for years!"

"Wow," Zeke said, trying for awed and surprised. "Find anyone suspicious?"

Ryan shrugged. "Most of Mom's friends have skeletons _somewhere_ in their closets. Honestly, I think she's glad to have an excuse to do some digging."

"Like there was anything she didn't already know. You _know_ what gossips her friends are."

"Like your friends?" Ryan suggested.

"Please. Those sorority girls are too vapid to notice anything _real_. I don't have a cheating boyfriend, so what are they going to tell me?"

And maybe it wasn't _strictly_ his detective mind at work when Zeke asked, "You... you don't have a boyfriend?"

Sharpay laughed.

\--

When she'd had a body, Taylor had a routine for marathon sessions on her computer. First thing, she'd walk to the store and buy a case of Red Bull; on her way home, she'd call Chad to warn him that she was going to be busy. He knew not to interrupt when she was marathoning. She'd load the drinks into the minifridge she kept in her office for just that reason, then she'd stretch for a few minutes. She'd literally crack her knuckles, then pop the first drink open, and get to work. Usually, she'd be finished by the time she finished the drinks in her fridge. (If not, Chad would go get her more -- she didn't sleep until she'd finished whatever security puzzle had her stumped.)

It sometimes took hours, though she never noticed the time passing. Then, jittery from the caffeine, aching from having been in one position for so long, and her vision gone blurry from hours of staring at the screen, she'd stretch again. And to work off the excess energy... well, Chad helped with that too.

Now, Taylor could barely remember the taste of Red Bull. Taste and smell --   
they were the easiest senses to forget, somehow. Microphones and cameras could fudge sound and sight for her, but not those. And _touch_... She was terrified of losing tactile memories, but those were easier to cling to. Like with everything else, Chad helped -- it was easy to remember how it felt to feel when she could still watch his hands playing across his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, hear his breath coming in pants, the heaviness in his voice when...

Chad helped.

Even if it was all so distant, like watching through a screen.

Now, though, with no body, there was no routine or ritual. Taylor just disappeared into the internet, following a strand of data that seemed relevant to whatever she was searching for. And if she couldn't find that much, she'd go searching further, checking private databases, ones belonging to the FBI or Interpol. Ones she'd never have been able to get into before, even as good as she'd been.

While Chad had class, she got to work, but no matter where she searched, there was _nothing_ on Chiaro and Scuro. As far as she could tell, their attempt to steal the Evans' diamonds was their first crime. She couldn't even find a team of non-superpowered criminals who matched their descriptions.

But she did turn up something else interesting while searching for female criminals who fit Chiaro's profile. Interpol had a file on a British crook named Emma Gold. She'd been a child actress in a few shows in London's West End, but once she'd hit her awkward teenage years, she'd had a hard time getting cast. The closest thing she had to a break was being placed as an understudy for a major part, and... Well, she'd ended up wanted for the murder of the actress she was understudy _for_.

Emma had disappeared, but had resurfaced a few times, connected to various crimes -- mostly robberies, but one assassination, too. The last time Interpol had seen her, she'd hooked up with an American mobster, James Zara. He'd ended up in jail for a botched armed robbery; his wife had walked out, and she'd left their son -- James Zara, Jr., a gangly brunet apparently lacking in good role models -- in the care of his grandfather.

The grandfather was a hobbyist inventor. Taylor traced his name in the patent database and got a few hits, but only one that was particularly noteworthy: a rocketpack.

And Emma Gold, while certainly physically _similar_ to Chiaro, was a dead-on exact _match_ for Tiara.

\--

Derby Evans partied in style.

Zeke knew that the Evans family was rich. _Everyone_ knew they were rich. But they'd rented out almost every room at a five-star hotel for their party (all so the guests could stay in style afterwards) and when Zeke saw the place, his mind reeled. No one should have that much money. No one _needed_ that much money. What the hell could they possibly spend it on?

Well, parties, obviously.

It wasn't like Zeke was on the invite list. But the Evanses _had_ decided to use the bakery for the dessert spread, and so, for most of a week, the few hours of his life that hadn't been spent in fruitless attempts to track down Chiaro and Scuro (or Tiara and Rocketman, for that matter) he'd spent baking. Classes? Dojo? Like he had time. The amount of money the Evanses were paying would practically cover his tuition for a semester, but the bakery was _earning_ it.

But come party night, after their backgrounds had been checked and turned up clean -- Zeke smirked -- he and his dad were delivering everything. The party planner's harried assistant showed them where to park, got them set up in one section of the enormous hotel kitchen, and they got to work with the details that could only be finished on-site.

Zeke stashed the backpack where he kept his Frappe costume under one of the kitchen's massive tables. He always kept it close at hand, and he was certain that a party this size would attract _some_ kind of trouble.

Dinner hadn't even been served yet when people started screaming.

Panic rippled out from the main hall into the kitchen, and when the screams got more shrill people began running all over the place. No one paid attention to things like the stoves or ovens, which was a fire waiting to happen.

"Dad," Zeke said, pulling his father out of the way of the stampede of waiters. "Get things organized in here. I've gotta -- "

"Go!" his father said, and as Zeke grabbed his bag he heard his father bellowing instructions, getting equipment unplugged. Zeke found a closet to change in and rushed to the dining hall.

He only took a second to take everything in. Tiara was there, with Rocketman, and several enormous, armored... _things_. A few security guards stood in front of the Evans family, who'd been backed into a corner somehow. Zeke saw Sharpay and Ryan holding hands and looking terrified. Vance looked pretty scared too, actually, and Derby's hand was at her throat -- covering the necklace.

Wading through the writhing, panicked masses was not going to work. Zeke shoved his way through the crowd, then jumped up on to one of the long buffet tables and yelled, "Hey, crazy! _Over here_!"

That did a pretty good job of getting everyone's attention. He ran down the table, sending drinks and food flying. Tiara turned and waved the stolen scepter in her hand. Two of the creatures lumbered towards him, huge but not fast. He evaded the first one's attempt to grab him easily, but the second smashed the table and it exploded in a storm of slivers. Zeke had too much momentum to stop short, and barely managed to leap instead of tripping. But the thing turned and swatted him in midair. Pain exploded in Zeke's side and he crashed to the ground. Instinct took over and he threw his arms out to spread the impact, even though he suddenly couldn't breathe. The same creature turned and stomped down, trying to crush him. He rolled, just out of the way, and kept rolling until he was under the remains of the table, then only paused long enough to heave in the deepest breath he could manage.

Not deep enough, and it hurt worse than anything he'd felt in years. Broken rib, definitely. _Fuck_.

"Give it to me!" Tiara screamed, accent thick and voice shrill.

"Stop!" Derby Evans screamed at her.

Zeke didn't have time intervene. The armored thing knocked the table aside, and he had to get back to his feet, broken rib or no. He staggered up, and then back, out of the way when it swung for him. He backed up again, then dodged to the side and around behind it. He whirled and kicked, slamming the thing squarely in its back. Impact shock ran up his leg -- it was like kicking a solid wall. No effect at all. What the hell _were_ these things?

More screaming from the Evanses' corner. The monster turned to face Zeke again and he ducked under another punch. He looked over in time to see one of those things grab Vance Evans and throw him across the room.

But Evans froze in midair.

Zeke was too busy dodging the armored monster to gape, but he heard people _applaud_, and it sure wasn't for his ability to dodge and run, which was all he was doing. But when he finally _did_ manage to stay out of range for long enough to look, it made sense: Strawberry Sugar and Captain Bolt had arrived. Bolt had planted himself in front of the Evans family, and with him to protect them, they broke out and ran.

"The scepter!" Strawberry shouted.

Zeke didn't have time to think about what that was supposed to mean. Two of the creatures were coming at him. He ducked down between them, let them barrel into each other, and ran out of reach again.

"What?" he screamed back.

This time, her voice rang out in his mind, which was just _weird_.

_Tiara can't control the Knights without the scepter, and we _can't_ let her get the diamonds!_

He waved vaguely in her direction, message received, but how the hell was he supposed to get to the -- _oh_. Captain Bolt was basically clearing a path through the armored monsters, and Strawberry was throwing Rocketman around like a ragdoll. Zeke ducked under the fist of one of the Knights, as Strawberry had dubbed them, and came up running at Tiara.

She turned to face him, waved with the scepter, and another Knight lurched at Zeke. Captain Bolt grabbed it and pulled it back. Tiara narrowed her eyes, reached up to the tiara she always wore, and _holy crap it had a laser_. It fired at him and caught his arm, searing it and burning his sleeve. He whirled to the side and the laser followed, he ducked and it followed again, and he was too busy watching Tiara to see one of the Knights break past Captain Bolt's defense. It went straight for him and the laser caught up, and --

Everything went pitch black.

Zeke knew what that meant, so he didn't stop moving, just crashed forward, trying to get close to Tiara. When the lights came back, Chiaro and Scuro had appeared. One of the Knights reached for Scuro and he raised an arm; a solid wall of the shadowy goo caught the Knight and pushed it back. Chiaro turned towards Tiara, light whip twirling around her, and suddenly Tiara was on the defensive.

"The scepter!" Strawberry screamed again. "Don't let her -- "

She was cut off as one of the Knights barreled down on her. There were definitely more of them now, enough that it was going to take everyone who was there to keep them busy. Only Zeke didn't really have a way to take them down, so he just dodged and tried to get at Tiara _again_, hoping to get the scepter and end everything.

No luck. Chiaro yelled, "_You_!" and turned on him, her cord of light whirling around him. It caught his cheek and sizzled, burning as badly as the laser had, and he _had_ to face her and give up on Tiara yet again. He rushed at Chiaro, but light blazed in front of him so he couldn't see, only feel the blazes scorching him.

He backed up a step and turned, not sure where to go, and was just in time to see Rocketman dive -- off at the side, where Derby Evans was pressed against a wall. He knocked into her and snatched at her neck, took off for the ceiling and screamed, "I got it! I got it!"

"You _don't_ got it!"

And there was Go, speeding into the room. He did two laps, getting up so much momentum he was able to literally run up the wall and across the ceiling. As gravity caught up with him and he began to fall, he passed Rocketman and grabbed the necklace back. He flipped in midair and landed on the ground in a perfect crouch, right next to Zeke.

"Sorry I'm late," he said.

"Get the scepter!" Zeke answered.

"No problem!" He dashed forward, nothing but a red and black blur, but Scuro apparently still had a bone to pick. A wave of goo crashed over Go, snapping him back into real time.

Another Knight broke free of Captain Bolt and lumbered at Scuro. He turned, but he was too focused on keeping Go in place to dodge. He didn't move until the absolute last second and then he dropped low -- but it was too late. The Knight smashed the side of his head, and he crumbled to the ground. Go was freed instantly, but Chiaro screamed, "_No!_" and turned towards Go, light blazing. Go winced and couldn't move forward, which Zeke understood -- forcing himself into that kind of heat was crazy.

Zeke tried for Tiara yet again, but there were _way_ too many Knights now. He saw one reach for Go from behind him and tried to yell out a warning, but the pain in his side was too much for him to get the breath he needed. He ducked under another Knight's arms, but Go wasn't so lucky. The Knight smashed into him and he fell, hit the ground, and didn't get up.

The Knight leaned down and grabbed Go, who hung limply from its hands. Rocketman dove down far enough to grab the necklace again; and Tiara, still using the scepter and her laser to fend off Strawberry Sugar while Captain Bolt threw around Knights, yelled, "_Finally_!"

Zeke leapt towards her in vain. One of the Knights threw up an arm, knocking him back. He blacked out for a few seconds, unable to breathe and hurting everywhere at once. When he recovered, the Knights were trooping off, Tiara on one of their shoulders.

One of them held Go. Another held Scuro. Tiara still held the scepter, and Rocketman still held the diamonds.

Chiaro let out a horror-movie scream and the whole room went white-hot and bright. But it faded quickly -- Zeke squinted and could see Chiaro suspended in midair, unconscious. Strawberry pointed at the hole the Knights had left and ran after them, Chiaro floating above her. Zeke tried to follow but still couldn't get a deep enough breath; black spots swam before him and he was out cold before he hit the ground.

\--

Gabi had designated the agricultural science building's roof as a safe spot. It was high enough to be out of sight, large enough to give them room, had ladder access because of the garden on top, and it was easy for her to get to. She floated up with Chiaro, left her lying across the rooftop, then brought up Troy, with Frappe held in his arms.

Frappe regained consciousness almost as they touched down. "What -- who -- ?"

"Us," Troy said. "You okay?"

Frappe grimaced, but nodded. "Broken rib. It'll heal."

"We can get you to a doct -- "

"No time." Frappe fumbled in his top and pulled out a pill jar. He downed three pills and winced. "I can't exactly afford to take it easy for six weeks. I'll cope. Where's..." He shook his head and inhaled deeply. "They got Go?"

"And the diamonds," Strawberry confirmed. "Which means Tiara is going to have those Knights at full strength any second. She'll be unstoppable!"

"They weren't already _at_ full strength? Christ." Frappe staggered forward a step, and then sat, though Gabi wasn't sure if it was because he _meant_ to, or because he couldn't stand anymore. So Gabi sat too, and so did Troy. Frappe looked over at Chiaro.

"What's her deal?" he asked.

"I, um, knocked her out," Gabi said. "I just sort of..." She gestured. "I blacked her mind out."

"Whoa. Is she okay? Is... They got her partner, too."

Gabi nodded.

"We need to stop them," Troy put in. "You want to work with us?"

"Well, I obviously can't take them on my own. And Go's a good guy. We need to help him."

"More than you know," Gabi said. "She might... To make the Knights invincible, Tiara needs to sacrifice someone. If she's got Go..."

"You don't think...." Troy said.

Gabi nodded. In the legends, the more powerful the sacrificial victim, the more powerful the scepter got. It used to be kings and wizards who were the most powerful, but now... what would top a superhero? "It's -- "

"Behind you!" Frappe interrupted, and he practically dove into action. He tackled Chiaro, pinning her down, even though he winced obviously as she tried to struggle free. Light and heat flared up, and Troy hurried forward to grab her instead. She couldn't hurt _him_.

"_Where is my brother_?" she screamed, struggling even though she didn't have a hope of getting out of Troy's grip.

"Calm down!" Troy yelled. "We -- "

Another flare of light, and Gabi reached out with her mind. She felt the turmoil, and images flooded her consciousness: an eighth birthday party where they'd _each_ gotten their _own_ cake; watching the team mob a little blond boy after the last out, feeling so proud she might burst even as she yelled at him that baseball was stupid; his eye for fashion when she panicked about her very fist date ever and he'd helped her decide what to wear -- she'd lost him, he was _gone_, and she didn't care about anyone or anything else in the entire world --

"Listen to me!" Frappe's voice cut through the flood and brought Gabi back to herself, her own mind. "We don't have him! Tiara took him. Do you hear me? _Tiara took him_, and she took our friend too, and we're going to _get them back_ but you _have_ to _calm down_!"

The light faded. Chiaro slumped, but Troy didn't let her go.

"Okay," Troy said. "Cool. Thanks. Okay, so you'll work with us?"

"What?" Frappe stared at him. "No, _we_ \-- the three of us -- go get them. _She_ goes to jail. She's a thief!"

"I am not! _You_ were the one robbing the -- "

"You -- "

"Hey!" Gabi interrupted. "We can vouch for Frappe. He's a goodguy." She looked over at him and smiled. "I'm a huge fan of your predecessor. Are you two related?"

He gave her a wary look, but finally nodded. "She's my mom."

"Oh! Can you tell her I love -- "

"She died."

Gabi faltered. "I'm sorry," she finally said.

"Yeah." His voice was flat; she could tell he was in a lot of emotional pain,   
but he obviously didn't want to deal with it. "Look. I was at the store, you set off the alarm when you broke in. If I hadn't shown up -- "

"We did not." She glared. "We were not stealing _anything_!"

"Then what were you doing?" Troy asked.

"Yeah," Frappe snapped.

"None of your business."

"Right. So you weren't stealing things, you just broke in, but you won't tell us why? _That'll_ play well in court."

"We -- "

"She's telling the truth," Gabi said. Everyone turned to stare at her, but she _knew_ it was the truth. "I can sense it. Either it's true or she believes it is."

"Get out of my head!" Chiaro screamed.

"I am! I just didn't see any point in continuing that argument."

They lapsed into awkward silence.

Finally, Troy said, "We aren't going to let Tiara get away with this. She's not going to kill anyone. She's not going to take over the world, or whatever insane scheme she's working on. She _won't_. I won't let her."

"So what do we do?" Frappe asked.

"We find them," Chiaro answered.

\--

Chad woke up all of a sudden. His skull pounded like it hadn't since before his toxic-waste bath, because now he didn't get headaches. He gasped for breath and tried to move. The breath came. Movement did not. He strained, but nothing happened, and it took him a few seconds to realize he was tied up. Tied down.

Chained down, actually. Or... sort of. He managed to turn his head, and was able to make out his own arm, which disappeared under a heap of barely-dry cement. He was stuck like that, spread-eagle, his limbs half-above and half-inside the floor.

"Tay?" he breathed.

Nothing. Not even static. He tossed his head, hoping to feel the earpiece so he'd know it was there, but again: nothing. It was long gone, had probably fallen out when the Knight clocked him. The camera, though... It was tiny, someone who didn't know to look for it would never see it. Maybe it was still broadcasting. Surely if it was, Taylor would find him.

And do what? She couldn't exactly launch a frontal assault...

He told himself to calm down, and took another deep breath. Okay. He'd find a way out of this somehow.

He was looking at the base of a wall, old bricks with the mortar flaking off. He turned his gaze up and saw a dull cement ceiling, with a bright white light shining down. He had to squint to see past it, but there was nothing to see. He turned his head the rest of the way, and...

"Hey, you're alive."

"Hi," Chad said.

Scuro was there. He was _actually_ tied up, kneeling with his wrists and ankles fastened all together behind him. It looked extremely uncomfortable, but at least he wasn't sunk into the cement or anything. With the overhead light glaring down so hard, his face was almost entirely shadowed by his fedora, but Chad could still make out those bright blue eyes.

"Come here often?" Scuro asked wryly.

"Yeah, I used to, but then everyone heard about it and it just wasn't cool anymore."

Scuro laughed. "Hot _and_ funny. You're the total package. And speaking of packages, boxers under spandex? Does not work, honey."

"That's what my fiancee said," Chad said.

"And he's straight. Of course. Damn," Scuro said, but he didn't sound terribly upset _or_ terribly surprised.

They lapsed into silence. Chad strained again, trying to free any of his limbs, but the cement held tight.

"They must have been planning to grab you," Scuro said.

"Huh?"

"If they had that floor all ready for you. I mean, I'm just tied up, but you..."

"Why would they want to kidnap _me_?" Chad wondered aloud. He raised his shoulders as far as he could and squinted at Scuro, wishing the light wasn't quite so bright. "And why..." He broke off, realizing he'd probably said too much already. Chiaro and Scuro had been trying to steal the same necklace as Tiara, and he'd assumed they were working together. Especially when Scuro went after him in the fight. But if so, then what the hell was he doing tied up?

Fishing for information, probably. He definitely didn't seem too distressed by the situation.

"Why am I...?" Scuro asked.

"Why _aren't_ you trying to get out of here?" Chad corrected. "With your shadow goo crap?"

"If only I could," Scuro said. "Maybe they were prepared for me. I can't do a damn thing."

"Why _not_?"

"Oh, hey, I know, I'll tell the guy who likes to try and hit me exactly how to neutralize my powers! _That_ would be super smart."

"Hey, I'm just trying to figure out how to get out of this," Chad snapped. "Which is more than you're doing." He wondered again if the button cam was working, and if Taylor would somehow come to his rescue. "Anyway, don't get pissy at me because your boss turned on you. Super villains are known to do that."

"My boss?" He sounded strangled. "My _boss_? That crazy Tiara person? Hell. No."

"Then what the hell were you doing stealing the diamonds for her?"

"I wasn't stealing anything!"

"You broke into a jewelry store!"

"I was -- " He broke off. "It is none of your business what I was doing, but I've never stolen anything in my life. I mean, _look_ at me. Do I look like a guy who's hurting for cash? Being this fabulous doesn't come cheap, _darling_."

"So maybe you got rich by _stealing things_."

"Don't you think you'd have heard of me?"

Chad had nothing to say to that. He might not have, but when Taylor researched them, she would definitely have run across descriptions of a blond guy who could turn out the lights with a glance.

"Look," Scuro said, after another few minutes of quiet, "I wasn't stealing anything. I can't tell you what I was doing, but it wasn't -- either trust me or don't, but I'm going to get out of here."

"How?" Chad asked.

"My sister will find me," he said, obviously supremely confident in that. "So it's your call: work with me, and we both get out. Screw me over, and..."

"What, you leave me to her Royal Craziness? Way to convince me you're _not_ a crook."

"Like. I. Said," Scuro snapped, voice strained, "work with me or not. Up to you."

Chad shut his eyes to the light, and said, "Okay. So what are you going to do, just wait?"

"It won't be long." He hung his head a little. "She'll be here."

"How? Do you have some sort of link?"

"Nope," Scuro said. "But she'll find me. Somehow."

"You've got a lot of faith in her."

Scuro sighed. "She always -- like when we were little." He paused, then said, "I got my powers first. I didn't know... We still don't know where they came from. I was maybe... eight years old? And I had this nightmare. It was... I don't remember anything about it, except I woke up screaming and sweating and just -- everything was black. Absolutely everything, and I thought I was _dead_.

"But then I heard her -- she was screaming for me, and she _found_ me. And once she was there, everything was okay. And the lights came back, and..."

"You two twins?"

"Yeah."

Chad paused. "I got my powers from toxic waste, you believe that?"

Scuro laughed. "That's... ridiculous."

"Right? But I guess it worked out. Because now I'm _fast_. Fastest man on the planet."

"I bet that frustrates your fiancee."

Chad stared. Then laughed, hoping Taylor had heard that. She'd laugh her ass off. Not that she had an ass.

The door swung open. Chad raised his shoulders as much as he could, and saw Tiara walk in, Rocketman behind her. She had the scepter tucked into her belt.

"Well, you've both woken up! I trust you both feel terrible, but that couldn't really be helped, so I don't feel too bad about it." She walked over towards them, circled Chad and then Scuro. "Now, who to kill first..." She leaned into Chad's line of vision. "I had planned on you, of course. It needed to be someone powerful, and I couldn't figure out how to kill Bolt. He is invulnerable, after all. And Strawberry Sugar? Couldn't even get near her. You, though..." She knelt down over him.

"So did I do something to you, or are you just, like, on your period or something?" Chad said.

She narrowed her eyes, then kicked him, her boot connecting with his ribcage. He bit his tongue and could taste blood, but managed to stifle the _oof_.

She leaned over him again. "You just happen to have the misfortune of being the most easily murdered of your compatriots. I was planning to make it as quick as possible, but perhaps..."

"Perhaps you're a sociopathic diva with a shitty fake accent?" Scuro suggested.

She stormed towards him, stepping across Chad's torso, and without hesitating she leaned down and backhanded him. His head snapped to the side and his hat fell off. "My accent is _real_," she hissed at him. "And _perhaps_ I'll kill you instead. Why not? You're just as powerful..." She leaned down again, almost face to face with him. "Just as vulnerable."

"It's not her period," Scuro said, ignoring her entirely and looking over at Chad. "I know divas. Probably her daddy didn't love her enough and her mother was too controlling, and she thinks maybe they'll finally hug her if she takes over the world."

This time, she outright punched him. Chad heard the dull impact and Scuro's hiss of breath.

"Which is a shame, considering she doesn't even _look_ the part. For one, she's a fake blond with a ten-buck dye job from Supercuts. Ever heard of a roots touch-up, honey?"

She punched him again.

"Or maybe I could just list off all the ways that catsuit just makes you look chunky. Skin-tight does not hide problem areas."

She punched him yet again, and this time he lolled forward, held in place by the ropes but obviously dazed. "Maybe I'll draw out the killing process, and actually _enjoy_ it," she hissed, then kicked him and turned to Rocketman. "Have the altar ready for me in half an hour. This will be _fun_." She stormed out, and Rocketman followed her.

Chad squirmed and shifted, and saw Scuro lift his head a few seconds later. There were bloody streaks down his chin and half his face was bruised.

"I don't suppose you used the time I cleverly bought to figure out an escape plan?"

"What?" Chad demanded. "I was _supposed_ to do that?"

"You're the hero," Scuro said, then spat. It was a surprisingly classless move, but Chad realized he was probably just trying not to swallow blood.

"She's going to kill you," Chad said.

"Yeah. Well, to do that, she'll probably drag me out of this room, and then..." He cleared his throat, and turned his face upwards towards the light.

"Huh?"

He nodded up at the light again.

"You..." Chad frowned. "But... You can do your thing with the light on. I've seen you do it."

"Not _that_ light," he hissed. "It's UV."

"How can you tell that?"

"Because I _can't use my powers_."

Oh. That made sense. And hey, Scuro had apparently decided to trust him, which was probably a good sign. Or it would be, if he was right, and Tiara dragged him out of the room -- assuming the rest of the place wasn't similarly lit. She'd have a fight on her hands, then. Or if they could get rid of the light...

"I have an idea," Chad said.

\--

Taylor felt the jolt when Chad's earpiece cut out and smashed under the foot of one of the Knights. But the cam pinned over his left collarbone kept broadcasting, sending her a jumble of images. She saw the world spin out of control as he collapsed, the up-and-down jolts as he was carried off. It was damaged, though, fuzzing in and out; the signal was hard to trace to begin with, since the camera really _was_ tiny, but whatever damage it had sustained made it worse.

It was the first time she'd experienced panic since she'd adjusted to her new form. She couldn't contact Chad, she could barely keep track of him, and if she lost the signal he'd just plain _disappear_. And without him... Chad was the only link she still had to the real world, the only one who knew where she was, that she existed. That was her choice, a matter of safety -- and she didn't want to upset her family's lives, when god knew she'd turned Chad's upside down enough. Without Chad, she'd be alone, she'd lose her only _reason_ for staying connected to the outside world.

She _had_ to find him.

She tracked the camera as they moved Chad down to the manufacturing district, inside one of the enormous storehouses. The last she got from it was a flash of bright, white light, then something jolted him and it went dead entirely.

Okay, so she knew _where_ he was, assuming they stayed put. Even if they moved, it was a place to start looking. And there were people looking, she was sure. Frappe, and Captain Bolt, and Strawberry Sugar -- they'd go looking for the badguys, if not for Chad himself. But unfortunately, she had no way of contacting them.

She ran through all of the information she'd gathered on them, on Tiara and Rocketman, on everyone who Chad had run across since he'd first donned the Go costume. There had to be --

Yes. The photos the police had put out of Chiaro and Scruo. Frappe had taken them, which meant he must have some sort of contact with the police. She found the DCPD online and discovered they had pretty mediocre security. Getting from the internet onto their local network was easy enough, and from there, she followed the photos back to their origins, the desktop computer of one Louisa Garcia.

Garcia was a senior detective; she had to be out dealing with the party mop-up. But there was a contact sheet saved on the police intranet, which had her cell number. Taylor hesitated for a millisecond, then hopped over to the phone carrier's servers. She'd never tried broadcasting herself like that before, but the phone company's computer servers were connected to the phone tower, so it was worth a shot.

She fudged the data she needed to dial and had her vocal program on standby. One ring. Two. Three --

"Garcia."

"Detective? This is -- I have a tip," Taylor vocalized, relieved that her voice came out close enough to normal that someone not expecting it would probably never suspect.

"What? Who is this?"

"I can't say. But I know where Tiara's hideout is, or was. She may be on the move, you need to hurry." Taylor couldn't control the emotions of the voice. She'd have liked to make it sound panicked, or desperate, or _something_. Instead, it was just steady and calm.

"Look -- "

"Please. If you can contact Frappe or... or anyone, anything at all! Please, just look into it. I can't tell you how I know, but -- "

"If you give me an address," Garcia said, "and some kind of proof that we won't be walking into a trap, I'll -- "

"I don't have proof," Taylor said. "You have to trust me. I _saw_ them come in to the... It's a warehouse. I was nearby and I saw them and then -- " she checked the news, a millisecond's distraction, and saw that it was already covering the melee at the party -- "I saw the news and realized -- please!"

A long pause, and then Garcia said, "Okay. Give me the address."

If Taylor had needed to breathe, she'd have heaved a sigh of relief. Instead, all she did was give the address, and then hang up. Then she could only lurk, monitor the news, and wait.

\--

Zeke's head hurt too freaking much for this, and his torso hurt even more than his head. They needed to get out and find Go and Scuro, but Strawberry and Chiaro just freaking _could not_ agree on how to do that, and it was already enough to make Zeke regret signing on to help the group.

Well, almost. He probably wouldn't have survived the party if they hadn't shown up to help. That thought did not improve his mood any.

"Everyone, come on, don't fight!" Captain Bolt finally broke in, trying to referee the argument between them.

The trail the Knights had left went cold on the main highway; apparently everything had gone dark, which Strawberry suggested might be Scuro's doing, which had made Chiaro freak out again. But the police investigators had looked into it, and they'd heard through Bolt's scanner that they'd found it was a mechanical thing, that Tiara or Rocketman had broken into the city's electronic grid and turned off the lights for long enough for them to escape. And the highway was the only area large and sturdy enough for them to travel without leaving a huge trail, and no one had seen them exit it. The trail was cold.

So did they split up and search, or stick together? Chiaro wanted to split up, cover more ground; Strawberry was sure that, villain or not, she'd split as soon as they let her out of their sight, and if she found her brother, she wouldn't be reliable for helping them rescue Go and actually _stop_ the villains. Scuro was her only concern; she didn't seem to care about anyone, or anything, else.

Zeke shut his eyes and told himself that if he imagined hard enough, a cup of coffee would appear.

The police scanner, busy all night as investigations continued, came to life. The Evans twins were missing, but no one had seen Tiara and her creatures with them. Everyone else from the party had been accounted for; they were now being questioned.

But it was Garcia who spoke now.

"Things are crazy tonight, huh?" she said to whoever else was listening. "Wish I could talk about this stuff after hours, but you know how that is..."

Zeke's eyes flew open. "She knows something," he said. "That was to me."

"What?" Chiaro turned to him.

"Detective Garcia is a friend of mine. She drops hints when she needs me, so..." He stood. "First stop, we go see her."

And by the time they arrived at the police station, she was waiting for him on the roof. Holding a styrofoam cup of coffee.

"You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met," Zeke said, accepting it.

"We really need to work out some kind of code," she said. "Something innocent-sounding I can say when I want your attention."

"Yeah," he agreed, and took a few swallows of coffee. It burned going down, which really just hurt so good. "Later. What's going on?"

"Got a tip. No idea if it's legit, but someone claims to have spotted your villains -- and friends -- down in the manufacturing district. And the weird thing is, she called me directly. And asked me to pass it on to you specifically. That's the only reason I think it might be legit... Or a trap."

"Well, we'll check it out, either way." He finished the drink quickly, his throat throbbing, and handed the cup back to her. "You make the best coffee."

"You know it." She grinned, and gestured at the edge of the building. "Be safe, Frappe. Nice to meet you all."

"How do you know her?" Strawberry asked, as she lowered them back to the ground. That was a nice thing about working with her, Zeke decided. He had to do a lot less climbing.

"Friend of my mom's."

"Old enough to be your mom," Chiaro muttered.

"Okay!" Bolt interrupted. "Let's go check this out!"

\--

Chad couldn't really move, but the cement around his arms and legs wasn't air tight. He tried to shift his arm, and could feel only tingles, since it had fallen asleep ages ago. But that tingling meant he _was_ moving. Not much, just molecules at a time, but it vibrated. He did it again, concentrated on making tiny movements very, very quickly. And it made the floor vibrate, too.

"Whoa," Scuro said. "That was -- you?"

"Yeah," Chad said. "I can vibrate. Just found out. Pretty cool."

"I take it back, about your fiancee being frustrated. So what are you do..."

He trailed off as Chad started vibrating again, now trying to shake his whole body at once. And it worked. He could feel the cement flaking off, not enough to free him, but enough. The floor shook with it. The walls shook. And the light began to swing overhead.

"Oh," Scuro said.

Chad didn't answer -- couldn't really, since his teeth were rattling as hard as the rest of him. Vibrating was exhausting and he felt jarred, totally weird and jelly-like, but the swings of the light grew wilder and wilder. And it must have shorted out a wire or a connection or something, because it went dark.

Chad fell still and heaved several breaths. "So," he said finally, glancing around. The room was almost pitch-black now, with only a tiny bar of light spilling in from the crack under the door.

Then that went black.

The room went cold.

Chad couldn't see it, but he could hear movement. Scuro grunted, and then moved. Stood. Chad couldn't see at _all_, which was weird, but he felt a cold hand on his chest. "Brace yourself, hero. This will probably hurt."

"Huh?" Chad asked, but he didn't need an explanation. For a few seconds, there was an almost unbearable pressure on one of his arms, like something trying to pull it off. Then the cement exploded outward. "How the hell did you do that?"

"You gave me the idea," Scuro said, as the pressure came down on Chad's other arm. "You put some cracks in the cement. I'm just putting some shadows in them, and then expanding it. Like ice in a sidewalk." _Crack_, and both of Chad's arms were free.

Chad sat up. Scuro let out a whistle.

"The spandex shows off your abs nicely," he said.

"It's pitch freaking black," Chad answered. "How could you tell?"

The cement over his left leg exploded. "I can see in the dark."

"And you're using that to scope me out?"

"You can't blame me for trying to find a silver lining in this whole being-kidnapped situation. I mean, usually when I get a hot guy tied down, he's told me his safeword and any pain is consensual."

The last of the cement went up with a crackle, and Chad leapt to his feet. The tiny bar of light came back and he could dimly see Scuro stand. "So let's escape," Chad said.

Scuro gestured at the door. Chad tried it, but it was locked.

"I can -- "

"I got it," Chad interrupted. He needed to work out the rest of the pins and needles anyway. It took three laps around the small room -- a scarce moment -- to get up to speed, but once he was, landing on the door with that much momentum took it right off its hinges.

"Ta-daaaaa," Chad said, and they made their way up the hall, quiet and careful, until a crash out front broke the quiet. Then another, and the sound of Tiara shouting, and the noises of a battle.

"Just gonna guess," Chad said, "but I think the cavalry is here."

\--

Troy hated waiting, but he understood that they had to be careful. So he bit the inside of his cheek and waited, while Gabi stood frozen, apparently reaching out with her senses. Finally, she nodded.

"I can sense them inside," she said. She shot Chiaro a sympathetic look. "They're hurting -- especially your brother -- but they're okay."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"We have to -- "

Troy was already on it, though. He kicked down the warehouse door and ... Whoa. This place had probably once housed products ready to ship, but now it was just a big open space, filled with Knights. There was a raised platform in the back, where Tiara stood -- in front of an _altar_, complete with chains and candles and everything.

"-- be _subtle_," Gabi finished.

"What have we _here_?" Tiara asked, and laughed. "Get them!"

Every single Knight turned towards them.

"Oops," Troy said.

The first wave of Knights rushed forward. Troy braced himself and grabbed the first one that grabbed for him. The Knight had the advantage in size, but he was stronger; he shoved and it went over, taking the two behind it with it. Another went flying through the air as Gabi stepped up next to him.

"You two!" she yelled at Frappe and Chiaro. "Get back out! There's a door around the corner of the building, it'll..." She paused to gesture at another Knight, blowing it backwards, "...take you right to your friends."

And keep them out of the way of the enormous soldiers, Troy realized. Gabi was smart like that. Frappe turned to step out, but Chiaro narrowed her eyes at Gabi. "You, go," she said to Frappe. "I'm taking that diva _down_."

"How?" Troy asked, but she didn't stop to answer. The whole room went blindingly bright. Troy felt something white-hot and heard her footsteps, and then Tiara shrieked. The lights dropped back to normal and Troy saw Chiaro in front of the altar, light dancing like a rope in front of her, putting Tiara on the defensive.

"Whoa," Troy said. But he had worries of his own, in the form of the Knights still trying to take him down. One got in a good shot that sent him flying back into the wall, leaving the wall itself dented and cracked. All he could manage was to duck as another tried to hit him, and as he dropped down he pushed at its legs. That sent it toppling, but forward, down on top of Troy. He caught it and sprang up, throwing it and hoping to take down as many others with it as he could. That got him some breathing room, just enough to see Rocketman come swooping in to the room.

"Trouble!" Rocketman screamed. "Your sacrifices got away!"

But that was obvious a moment later: Go and Scuro broke into the room from another doorway, looking bloodied and tired, but mostly pissed off.

"Chi!" Scuro yelled.

She saw him looked so relieved that Troy could sense it without needing psychic powers. She turned back towards Tiara, blazing whip cracking from her hand.

"Jimmie!" Tiara screamed, shooting her laser at Chiaro. "We need the sacrifice _now_! Get the altar ready!"

Rocketman swooped in, down towards the raised platform. "Oh, no you _don't_," Gabi hissed from her spot next to Troy, and she shot up into the air herself. She flew at Rocketman, who made a break for it, skimming low over the Knights. She followed him down -- a little too far. One of the Knights reached up and smashed her, knocking her to the ground.

"_No!_" Troy yelled, but she was too far away. He couldn't see her at all, just the Knights converging over her -- but then Chiaro was there, her lights blazing around her, and none of the Knights could get past her.

Troy struggled closer to the altar himself, not making much progress. He felt a quick breeze and a moment later another one, and then he saw Go holding a chain and hauling a bunch of Knights together. Go yelled, "Hey, you think that cement trick will work on armor?"

Across the room, one of the Knights exploded in a shower of sparks and deep shadows. "I guess so!" Scuro yelled back, and Go laughed as he dodged around two more Knights, pulling them into the pile.

"It's ready!" Rocketman yelled.

"Excellent!" Tiara answered, and turned on him. She grabbed one of the chains and the closest person she could -- the only one who wouldn't run from her. Rocketman, already standing right there. She clamped a manacle around his wrist, and before he could freak out she'd punched him hard enough to daze him, and pushed him into position.

"What? But -- Tiara, I -- I thought -- "

"You were a good henchman," she said. "I'll remember you fondly."

"But -- "

She grabbed a large knife and leaned down over him. And obviously Rocketman was a bad guy, but he didn't deserve to die. But Troy wasn't close enough --

Frappe appeared almost out of nowhere, emerging from the shadows, and tackled her, knocking the scepter out of her hand. It must have already gained too much strength, because all of the Knights didn't vanish the way they had first time Troy had fought Tiara. But some of them did, and Troy barreled forward as Tiara and Frappe grappled for the knife. Frappe won the struggle, but doing it gave Tiara an opening and she shoved him off the platform. If he hadn't already been injured, he'd probably have recovered quickly, but he lay motionless once he was down.

Tiara grabbed the scepter again, turned to Rocketman, and her laser flared to life. But Troy was finally close enough. He jumped on to the platform and landed in time to shield Rocketman's body with his own, then reached around to grab the manacle and pull it off of the altar. Then he advanced on Tiara.

She waved the scepter, and one of the Knights sprang at him. Troy shoved it back with a single motion, and grabbed Tiara. She screamed and fired the laser straight into his face, but he didn't even feel it. He just reached for her, grabbed the scepter, and yanked it from her grip. He smashed it and a shower of diamonds came loose, and with that, the Knights did vanish. He reached up, pulled the tiara off of her, and crushed it under his boot. But that moment gave her enough time to run for it.

She didn't get far. Frappe had staggered to his feet. He took three steps and tackled her, got her pinned down, wrenched her arms behind her back, and cuffed her.

Troy turned to Rocketman, who cowered under the altar. He braced himself, obviously expecting the worst, but Troy wasn't that kind of guy. Instead he said, "Hey, dude, you okay?"

"You saved my life," Rocketman breathed. "You... are _so_... awesome. I _love_ you."

Troy gave him a grin, then looked around the room. Chiaro and Scuro were hugging, Gabi was sitting on the floor and rubbing her head, Go was now holding an empty chain and looking confused, and Frappe stood over Tiara.

"Hey," Troy said. "We did it."

\--

The police took care of the clean up. Everyone else agreed to meet on the agricultural science rooftop an hour later, though Gabi didn't honestly believe that Chiaro and Scuro would be there. She took the break to shower and recover a little, but was still the first person to arrive.

Troy was next. He sat next to her and held her hand.

To her surprise, Chiaro and Scuro _did_ show up. Scuro's face was a mess of bruises, but he didn't have a hair out of place. And Gabi was inwardly impressed that Chiaro had managed to climb the ladder so easily while wearing such high stilettos.

Frappe was next, clenching a thermos in one hand. He made it up on to the roof, then collapsed in a groan.

"More coffee from your cougar police friend?" Chiaro asked.

"I thought about stopping at Starbucks, but they'd probably think I was trying to rob it." He downed a few gulps and sighed.

Go appeared a moment later. "Oh, am I late?" he asked, and then laughed at something. Gabi frowned and squinted at him -- there was something _weird_ about him. Sort of another presence floating around him; not quite there, but definitely sentient.

"Fashionably so," Scuro said.

Go shot him a grin, but sat next to Frappe. "You okay?" Go asked.

Frappe shrugged. "I'll live. But I was thinking -- maybe you could do some patrols with me this week? I'm gonna be a little slow for a few days..."

"Could use someone fast to balance you out?" Go suggested.

"Right."

"Right!" Troy agreed. "That's _exactly_ what I wanted everyone to talk about, actually. Because I was thinking, like -- we're all very powerful and stuff on our own. But let's face it, any one of us would probably have gotten our butts kicked tonight, if we'd been alone."

Gabi realized where he was going and nodded. "I could hold off a few of those things, but not enough to get to Tiara."

"Same here," Troy said. "So I was thinking... maybe we should all consider working together, at least sometimes. As a team."

"A team?" Frappe said. "With them?" He gestured at Chiaro and Scuro with his thermos. "Do I have to remind everyone _again_ that they are _thieves_?"

"We aren't!" Chiaro started.

"Then what -- "

"They were trying to help," Gabi said, interrupting. She hadn't meant to pick that out of anyone's mind, but it was obviously on the tip of Chiaro's tongue, and so it practically _projected_ itself into Gabi's consciousness. "They... they wanted the Evans family to put more security around the diamonds, so they _wouldn't_ get stolen. They broke in to try and spook the store, but hadn't counted on Frappe and... It really _was_ a misunderstanding!"

"Stay out of my brain!" Chiaro yelled at her. "God, what do I have to do, wear a tinfoil hat?"

"Wouldn't exactly go with your outfit, sis," Scuro said.

She rolled her eyes, and then turned her gaze to Frappe and gave him a withering glare. "Satisfied?"

He glared right back. "Maybe if you'd told me that in the first place -- "

"I think," Scuro interrupted, "that we'd better decline. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this, anyway."

"Just look what that diva did to your pretty, pretty face," Chiaro added.

"So yeah," Scuro said. "But maybe we'll see you around."

They both turned to leave, but a moment later, Go stood between them and the ladder. Chiaro clenched a fist, but Go and Scuro eyed each other warily.

Finally, Go said, "Transistor."

"Huh?"

"My safeword." Go grinned. "My fiancee is kind of a nerd." He held out his hand.

Scuro laughed. "Lucky nerd," he said simply, and shook Go's hand. And maybe, if Gabriella was any judge, he held it for just a second too long. But then Go stood aside, and things went dark. When the world's light came back to normal, Chiaro and Scuro were gone.

"What about the rest of you?" Troy asked. "I mean, we could have each other's backs. Think about everything we can do! I'm strong, Strawberry is psychic, Go is fast, and Frappe, uh..."

"I bake," Frappe offered.

"Really?" Troy tilted his head, confused. "I mean, seriously?"

"That a problem?" Frappe asked mildly.

"He's a total badass in a fight, man. Seriously," Go put in.

Frappe raised his thermos in salute.

"_I_ think it's a good idea," Gabi said. "We can do some real good in the world!"

"We need a name," Troy mused.

"Something that's graceful _and_ powerful. Like... a cat," Gabi suggested.

"Uh, no," Frappe said. "Sorry, but I kind of rely on the black-clad badass thing, I don't really need people to associate me with anything fuzzy or lazy or adorable."

Go laughed. "Okay," he said. "What about... _Wild_cats? Still graceful, way more powerful, less likely to make people assume you spend your day lounging in the sunlight."

"I like it," Gabi said.

Troy nodded.

Frappe hesitated, but finally shrugged. "Okay, I can do that."

"Great!" Troy gushed. "Man, this is gonna be _awesome_. We'll need communicators or something -- "

"I can help with that," Go said. "I mean, my silent partner -- uh, she's sort of an AI? Kind of? -- she can, at least. She can also hack any computer system in the whole world. She totally had me tracked tonight, too. She called in the tipoff. She says hi to everyone. She can..." He gestured at the pin camera on his costume. "There's a camera, and anyway... Uh, yeah."

"That's really cool," Gabi said. And inwardly she was pretty excited at the thought of having another girl around. It also explained the weird presence she'd sensed around Go.

"Awesome," Troy repeated. "Okay, let's get pumped! We need some sort of..." He gestured a little. "Like, cheer? Is that too much?"

The look on Frappe's face plainly said that yes, he thought it was, but Gabi thought it was a cute idea, and said so. Troy beamed at her.

"Something like, 'Let's go, Wildcats,' or 'Wildcats rule!' or -- "

"I got it," Go said, and stuck his hand out. He waited until everyone had circled up, hands in the middle, then broke into a wide grin and announced, at the top of his lungs, _"What team?"_

Somehow, even the team members who weren't psychic just got it. They screamed, "Wildcats!" in unison, and Gabi couldn't stop smiling.

This was going to be _amazing._

**[Fin.]**

[BONUS! Fanmix: Who Are The Wildcats?](http://temira.livejournal.com/102828.html)


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